


It's More (Than What I Thought)

by badjujuboo (miztrezboo)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alcohol, Blow Jobs, Boys Kissing, Comeplay, Friends to Lovers, Hand Jobs, Jealousy, Love Bites, M/M, Pining, Recreational Drug Use, thigh fucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-09
Updated: 2016-03-09
Packaged: 2018-05-20 03:10:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 38,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5989918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miztrezboo/pseuds/badjujuboo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis loves his best mate Liam and Liam’s in love with his boyfriend Harry. Maybe Harry’s a little in love with Louis, and maybe it’s a problem when Louis realises he loves them both. Then again, maybe it’s not, when they realise they love him, too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A failed plot from the first round of Big Bang finally seeing the light of day in the 4th... I've been here too long.  
> Amazing photosets and mix by [colourexplosion](http://archiveofourown.org/users/colourexplosion/pseuds/colourexplosion) (Playlist of fabulousness available [HERE](http://jessimond.tumblr.com/post/140740947825/its-more-than-what-i-thought-a-mix-to). Beta'd by Mamacitasan with much love to my Sweet Potato/[Mrsyt31](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mrsyt31), my Brit/[Pencilsandpaperclips](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Pencils_and_Paperclips), my Boston Hoodie Pal [words_unravel](http://archiveofourown.org/users/words_unravel/pseuds/words_unravel) and the Moo/[moo86](http://archiveofourown.org/users/moo86/pseuds/moo86) for being the greatest cheerleaders, brit pickers and plot hole fillers that they always are.

It’s like this.

Louis likes Liam; they’ve been best friends since Nursery, basically living in each other’s pockets right up until they left for Uni at Manchester and even after when they’d moved into a flat of their own. They’ve never been _together_ . . . well, not officially or anything. 

They shared first kisses when Liam wanted to know if kissing Louis was any different from kissing Sophia behind the bike racks when they were thirteen. When they were fifteen, they may have tossed off next to each other, covers up to their necks and no eye contact made, to a porn video that Stan had found under his parents’ bed. That tape had done the rounds until Stan realised it actually _was_ his parents (no faces had been filmed) when his mum went a bit mental to his dad about it being missing. Stan had been grounded for a month and to this day neither Louis nor Liam could look Mrs Lucas in the eye. 

They never really talked about that time, never did anything else up until the night of Niall’s eighteenth, and even _that_ they didn’t discuss afterwards. It wasn’t much more than a drunken snog and an attempt at a first blowjob that Liam failed epically at, but nothing else. They’d not talked about it the morning after, never brought it up since. Not even when Louis’ mum complained about being unable to get the smell of vomit and gin out of the carpet. Liam attempting to deep throat Louis dick was a rookie mistake. It was probably why Louis’ mum used that room for storage after Louis finally moved out. 

It’s also like this.

Louis likes Harry. They’ve not known each other for anywhere near as long as Louis and Liam have been mates, but Louis likes Harry all the same. He likes his big, dimpled grin and the way he laughs loud and obnoxiously wherever they are if something tickles his fancy. He likes Harry’s ridiculously long curly hair that he often cajoles Louis into braiding when he’s tired. He’s usually asleep against Louis’ legs before Louis gets halfway done. He likes Harry’s big hands when they wave about the place as he talks in that slow monotonous way, telling stories that take the longest road to get to the point. He likes how easy it seems for Harry to find something in anything or anyone to appreciate. 

He loves that Harry lets him cheat at Monopoly but won’t let him even attempt creative spelling when it comes to Scrabble. Harry’s an amazing cook, will get up before them all and have a full english with a side of those god awful green smoothies he loves prepared for breakfast on a Sunday morning like clockwork. He even called Louis’ mum and found out what Louis’ favourites were as a kid when Louis was poorly and whining, too sick to head back to Doncaster to his mum’s. Louis didn’t want to bother her anyhow what with the girls and the new babies she had at home. It meant a lot that Harry’d gone as far as to spend an hour on the phone to Louis’ mum, picking up tips for what to do with a colicky baby for one of his friends. Harry was just so lovely was the thing. Good little body, great big smile and a laugh to match. It wasn’t hard for Louis to fall a little in love with him. Harry is a terrible flirt and so is Louis, and yes, sometimes it might feel a little too like something more than banter between them but Louis never pushes it. Would never risk their friendship. Not after it took a while for them to cultivate. 

And then it’s also like this.

Liam and Harry are together and deeply, deeply in love. Harry’s been basically living with them for the past two years now, ever since Liam and Harry had their meet cute moment outside of a bloody Tesco’s, of all things, coming back to their flat and never really leaving. They’re actually _that_ couple. The ones who end each other's sentences, who hold hands and look ridiculously lovingly into each other's eyes at all times. The ones who don’t stop _touching_ , who move around each other so comfortably you might just question whether there truly _was_ a time that they weren't together in the past. 

Louis doesn’t mind sharing his best friend. He doesn’t . . . now. At the beginning he might have resented how much attention Liam rained onto Harry. Gone were their dinner dates, regular like clockwork every Tuesday at seven, tucked up on their sofa with whatever TV series had taken their fancy, a six-pack in the fridge and a pizza to share on coffee table. That was soon replaced with “Sorry, Louis, Harry’s got a friend’s art showing he wants to go to,” and “Sorry, Louis, I promised Harry we’d have dinner with his mum and Robin.” It was sorry, Louis, sorry, Louis until Louis stopped ordering Liam’s meatlover’s with extra sauce and threw double jalapenos on for himself. 

Harry was the one who sorted it – started talking to Louis more, pushing him to make conversation, and finding things they had in common that made Louis come out of his “instant dislike” shell. They’d been to the same concerts, liked a lot of the same music and it was that, in the end, that had them bonding the most. Combined with how happy Louis saw Liam was when Louis made any effort with Harry, it wasn’t hard in the end to like Harry back. A few months in, Louis and Liam’s Tuesday dates returned, Thursdays where Harry and Louis did the grocery shop and caught up over lunch, and Sunday lie-ins with Harry’s breakfasts mopping up the dregs of their hangovers. The three of them fit. They worked, as much as a best friend and best friend’s boyfriend and just a friend could. 

Louis doesn’t think all too much about how it might look from the outside. Not until he’s well on his way to utterly wankered one night when Harry’s got them into some private club his mate is DJ’ing at. Harry and Liam are on the dance floor, close as close can be. Louis is watching them idly, sitting beside Niall in their little booth, toying with his fifth or sixth vodka lime and soda of the night. 

“You know, I don’t think they’d push you away if you wanted to join them,” Niall says, making Louis spit out the healthy sip he’s just taken, eyes wide as he wipes at his mouth.

“Me? Join who?” Louis splutters. Niall smiles, blue eyes sparkling as the tiny disco ball that illuminates the booth above their heads spins round. The decor in this place is truly odd.

Niall nods over to where Harry’s laughing. The music’s too loud for Louis to hear but his head’s thrown back in a way so familiar Louis can almost hear his guffaws. Liam has his arms wrapped around Harry’s waist, keeping him upright, a soft smile on his face that Louis knows he has whenever Harry reacts to something he’s said more than what Liam thinks he should do. If there’s a tug in Louis’ chest at the sight of it, no one will ever need to know.

“You can tell me, yeah? You know I wouldn’t care if you all were,” Niall shrugs, “you know.”

Louis frowns and takes a proper sip of his drink this time, managing to swallow it all, shoving up from the table. “No, Niall, I do _not_ know. I’m getting another drink at the bar.”

Niall didn’t say anything else and Louis didn’t give him the chance, dancing with boy after boy until Liam dragged him off the dance floor and into a cab, tucking him into bed when they got home.

He was sober enough to feel both Harry’s and Liam’s lips press to his forehead before he passed out completely, soft _I love you’s_ muttered as they shut his door.

That’s what friends did, though. There was nothing more to think about it.

Except maybe Louis does. 

Maybe it’s the fact that Louis’ last boyfriend was so long ago it was in that period where he thought tight, bright jeans and colour-coordinated suspenders were a good look. Maybe it’s the fact that Louis is currently dealing with a writer’s block that’s gone on for six of the twelve months he’s been given by his publisher to finish the third book in his six-part series. A series he’s assured them will be “this year’s answer to Harry Potter.” Maybe it’s because he’s been a tad lonely that he’s seeing more to a close friendship than what is actually there. It’s nothing to do with what Niall hinted at. Nothing to do with how the three of them can all pile onto the sofa, at least one body part touching at all times. They’re just a touchy bunch is all. 

Maybe it’s because before Harry came into their lives, Louis had started to think it was finally his time to have Liam. To push past just being mates into something more. To see if that sometime snogging they’d done when they were really drunk freshers at Uni could translate into a different relationship of sorts. 

Harry had come along, though, and any fanciful ideas Louis had of wining, dining and, well . . . other things, disappeared the moment Louis saw the way Liam looked at Harry. The way that Harry looked in return.

It is what it is, as the ink curved over Louis’ chest says. A tattoo he may or may not have gotten a few weeks after Harry and Liam started being whatever they were, and Louis was slightly maudlin about it. He’s fine, though. He’s truly happy for them both. Absolutely. Positively. Happy.

Then Liam had to go and get a bloody promotion. 

Louis’ been left alone with Harry for a lot longer than is probably deemed acceptable, being the best friend of the boyfriend or vice versa. In the three months Liam’s been gone, shipped off to Africa to feed the starving children or something – Louis never quite pays attention – it’s just been Harry and Louis at the flat. Louis pretending to write in his little nook beside the window overlooking a patch of green that’s deemed the local park. Harry ducking in and out for his classes (pottery at the start, and for the past six weeks his night masseuse course.) It’s nice, though. Having Harry to talk to over dinner when they’re both home. Having Harry to whine to when a part of his plot just won’t _work_. Having Harry’s head in his lap as they cackle and cringe over this seasons “stars in the making” on X Factor. 

Having Harry’s hands all over his body, though . . . well, that’s another thing entirely. 

See, the masseuse thing is the latest in a long line of career “maybe’s” that Harry’s tried out in the time Louis has come to know him. And there’ve been a few. Paramedic, carpenter, baker, model in a life drawing class (that he still tinkers with when they call), a potter, and even that one time he lasted two days as a waiter before he lost his footing and knocked down a whole shelf of top-class booze. It took all three of them to bump a little out of their wages to pay that off. The masseuse thing, though. That seems to have stuck, and Harry actually might be good at it.

Which Louis would know something about seeing as Liam so kindly volunteered Louis’ services as guinea pig after he left. 

It’s fine. It’s just massage, innit? Just Harry’s great big, warm hands smoothing over Louis’ back, pressing knuckles deep into the knots that form in his shoulders from hunching over his computer in his free time. Harry’s ridiculously dexterous thumbs pressing into the arches of Louis’ feet when he’s been on them all night at the bar that has Louis moaning in just the same manner as when he’s being eaten out. Not that Harry would know that, it’s been _quite_ a long time since Louis brought anyone home, and it’s not as if giving himself a good rimjob is something Louis can do. Though it is something he thinks about when he catches the way Harry’s tongue near sexually assaults a spoon when he’s licking yoghurt off it. 

He really needs Liam to come back home.

Not that their time alone together hasn’t been good. Louis sort of loves having Harry to himself. He’s become a pseudo-boyfriend in a lot of ways. Harry stumbling in of a morning, hooking his chin over Louis’ shoulder and near smothering him with his body as Louis pours them each a bowl of cereal. It’s coming home to Harry dishing up dinner, handing Louis a glass of wine with a kiss to his cheek and a “welcome home, honey” that started off as a laugh but now feels a little _too_ comfortable between them. It’s playing stupid board games because “Liam always does” and Harry’s puppydog eyes are nearly as bad as Liam’s. 

Which is how he ends up here. 

It’s nine o’clock on a Friday night when he could be out getting pissed and shagging someone in a toilet (which he hasn’t done in forever, so really, it’s time). Yet here he is, sitting across their coffee table from Harry with Harry’s own personal beat-up Scrabble board between them. There’s at least three bottles on either side and a sticky mess on the floor from where Harry knocked over the bottle of tequila they’d started to do shots with once they ran out of beer. Drunk Scrabble had been his own idea, anything to make the idea of staying in on a Friday more palatable. 

In reality, Louis should have known adding booze to the mix was a bad idea. 

Yet here they were.

“That’s not a word, you can’t play that word,” Harry says with a slow grin, pouring Louis a shot of tequila. Harry’s house rules state that every three-letter word created is worth one shot. Two letters a double. It was no wonder poor Liam got so drunk whenever they played this. Liam was good at many things, but puzzles where spelling was involved wasn’t one of them.

“Yes it is! ‘Sod’ is dirt, you know. Like a clod.” Louis is already shuffling his new pieces about, trying to see what else is possible on the board while knowing fully that Harry’s mostly right.

Mostly.

Harry laughs, shaking his head as he sets the tequila between his thighs and puts the lid back on. Harry’s been keeper of the tequila ever since he caught Louis taking an extra swig from the bottle. The thing was, Louis needed it tonight. Harry’d had his hands on him all week trying out his deep tissue massage skills. The moans he’d had Louis biting back with each touch were ridiculous. Louis was sure to have a scar on the tip of his tongue where he’d bloody near chewed the damn thing off trying to keep quiet.

“I know that, but ‘Ed’ isn’t. It’s just a name. You can’t have names, Lou,” Harry says, reaching up to gather his long curls into his hands. Louis swallows hard as a sliver of Harry’s stomach comes on show, his thin white shirt riding up. “It’s in the rules,” he argues, slipping a band from his wrist and tying his hair into a messy knot on top of his head. 

He really is very pretty. And Louis really, _really_ needs to leave the house next week and find someone to shag. Having Harry touch him all the time and be awfully attentive while Liam’s away is getting to be too much. Harry’s always been rather hands-on with people – a hug hello, kiss on the cheek goodnight, wrapping his ridiculously long torso over Louis when he makes that first cup of tea in the morning. Harry is a _lot_ on any given day, but usually there’s a Liam to act as a buffer. Except for the past near two months there’s been no Liam to share Harry’s attentiveness. Just Louis. 

Still, another week and Liam will be home. Louis can manage that. Seven sleeps. Six days. It’ll be fine.

“What rules? We play by our own rules, Harry. I’m pretty sure there’s nothing in the official book saying whoever has the lowest score has to race down the stairwell in nothing but his birthday suit, either,” Louis points out with a smug grin. The last three times they played this it was Harry who – on a good day – was fine with being naked. Yet not so fine when Mrs. McGregor caught him and gave him what for with her walking stick that had Harry black and blue on his shins for a week after. 

Harry's cheeks pinken and he rolls his eyes. “Fine, names are in, but you still have to take your shot.” 

Louis shrugs, picking up the tequila and throwing it back with a nod at Harry, happy to have Harry bend the rules a bit. Something that was also a little easier without Liam around; he was always a stickler for playing the game “proper.” Well, as proper as they could be considering the drinking portion.

Another two rounds pass with nothing out of the ordinary until it’s Harry’s go again and he is taking his sweet time about it. For five minutes Louis has to watch Harry pinch and prod at his bottom lip, nostrils flaring with each exaggerated breath out, two lines forming at his brow as he shifts his tiles this way and that. Five minutes of Louis being forced to watch Harry’s lip puff up with colour, a berry-red blush that Louis wonders if Liam tastes when he kisses him. It's a dangerous road for his mind to be meandering down, which in turn has him stretching his legs out, tucking them to the side and snapping at Harry with a bit more bite than he should.

“C’mon, Harry. Don’t make me get the timer.” 

Harry licks over the dry skin of his lips, making Louis’ breath catch in his throat which he hopefully fobs off with a cough as Harry places his tiles down. 

Louis shakes his head. Incredulous. “Really, Harry? You gave me all that shit about a fucking name and your putting _that_ down?”

“What?” Harry asks with an air of innocence to his tone, his dimpled smile echoing it. “It’s just a word. You use it all the time.”

Louis scoffs. “That may be true, but usually at inanimate objects, and I’m pretty sure you won’t find ‘cunt’ in the dictionary, Haz.”

“No,” Harry agrees, already picking up new tiles from the bag. “But I think it’s only fair that I gave you a little leeway. You have to give me some, too.”

He sort of has Louis there and really, Louis’ too drunk to bloody argue the point anyhow. 

“I’ll do three shots for it, all right? New rule. All dirty words come with a double shot penalty,” Harry offers, already taking the lid off the tequila and lining the glasses up. 

It could make things interesting and Louis has had trouble sleeping lately. Passing out from alcohol poisoning is probably just as good as having a wank and tiring himself out later.

“Anarchy, Harold. You’re talking anarchy here. Next you’ll be wanting to toss the baby out with the bath water.”

Harry throws back the shots, grimacing when he looks around for a lemon and realises they’ve finished those off with Louis’ last round. “No baby here, Louis, so no chance of that. And we don’t have a bath, either.”

“Well, at the very least it’ll make our night a little more interesting,” Louis murmurs, already laying his next pieces down, crossing his arms with a satisfied hum as Harry snorts, seeing what he’s done.

“Trim?”

Louis shrugs. “I was following your theme.”

The line in Harry’s brow deepens. “I can’t figure out if that’s worth the penalty or not.”

He’s playing with his lips again and Louis’ dick gives a twitch and fuck, he really has spent _too_ much time around Harry. He reaches around and sneaks the bottle from Harry’s fingertips. One good swallow later he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, keeping his eye on the tiles and avoiding Harry’s face at all costs. 

“Could be both,” Louis says, clearing his throat and looking up. “Now let’s get this game going, shall we? Loser has to duck down to McDonald’s tomorrow with Liam’s strawberry beret on.”

“Deal,’ Harry answers, with a sloppy grin that says he’s probably as drunk as Louis is. Maybe worse. “Game on.”

It gets worse from there.

For every slightly dirty word there’s an even dirtier one that comes next. Louis plays “wank” which has them both giggling. Louis’ cheeks heat up as Harry rolls about laughing at it, reading “quick wank” from his side. Then it’s shower and shag before things turn a little sordid.

Rim seems a little tame when Louis puts it down, but then Harry adds “job,” lamenting the loss of Liam’s tongue which has Louis shifting in his seat and Harry apologising. Blow and rub come next and Louis can’t even look at Harry now. Harry’s sitting across from him talking about this awful hand job he’d had with his first clubbing experience. Even if it _was shit_ , the way he’s near dramatically reenacting the thing using the neck of one of their beer bottles is enough to give Louis wank fodder for at least the next year. It’s a stupid thing to be thinking, because Harry is Liam’s boyfriend. Harry’s boyfriend Liam, who is Louis’ best friend Liam. And even thinking about how large Harry’s hands look wrapped around the glass isn’t something he should be letting himself do. Harry is off limits and Louis is a good friend. He’s a good friend. He’s fucking going insane here, is what he is.

Harry’s just getting to the part where he’s closing his eyes, hips shifting up with his hands and moaning a bit, when Louis hears it.

Saved by the sound of an incoming Skype call.

There’s only one person who would be Skyping them. Harry’s rolling up from the floor in an instant, with much more grace than he usually does. He’s headed for Louis’ computer where it’s been set up on the dining table basically since Liam left and they stopped eating meals around it. It didn’t feel right for just the two of them to sit there. A bit more date-like than friend-like, so the couch and coffee table have been home to them both whenever they eat.

Harry’s already pressing the answer button by the time Louis gets to his feet, stumbling over the “dick” bottle that Harry dropped in his haste to get up. Liam’s face fills the screen as Harry’s voice takes on that endearing soft tone it always does when Liam calls, saying Liam’s name all reverential and sweet and filled with love. Normally Louis would roll his eyes and prod at Harry, but not tonight. He needs this reminder that Harry is Liam’s and Louis is nothing but a friend to them both. 

“Hey babe, hey Lou,” Liam calls in an equally soft tone that Louis’ used to by now. He squeezes in beside Harry so both their faces fill the screen.

“Hey, hi, how’re you, mate?” Louis answers as Harry’s fingertips brush over Liam’s jawline, a soft sound pulling from his throat. Liam’s got a lot more scruff on his face than normal, looks a lot different from the Liam they sent off on a plane to Africa. Will probably look different again when they get him home.

“Good. Yeah. It’s all going well here, really well,” Liam answers, but his eyes are focused on Harry, Louis can tell. It’s what they do. Louis holds up a half-arsed conversation as Harry takes his fill and Liam answers mostly in monosyllables as he watches Harry watching him. It’s a bit odd but it helps all of them connect, seeing as Liam can only call once a week. He hasn’t called twice like this in all the time he’s been gone. It makes a heaviness stir in Louis’ gut, but seeing Liam looking rather well and sounding upbeat is negating that.

“That’s what I’ve called about actually,” he continues, and oh. Louis knows that look. Saw it when Liam admitted he’d been the one to knock over and break Louis’ first and only football trophy when they were ten. The same look Liam had given Louis when he’d snogged Eleanor at a party a week after Louis had broken it off with her, realising it was pretty shit to date a girl just because he wasn’t ready to come out to the whole school himself. The same look he gave Louis when he’d accidentally opened the window at Louis’ reading nook to clean, sending half of his looseleaf notes on the second part of his novel out to the street below.

This call. This call isn’t a normal check-in. Not with how big and puppy-ish Liam’s eyes have become. Louis wraps his arm around Harry’s waist and waits for Liam to deliver his news.

“You coming back earlier, then? I know you said it was a long shot but I ran into Sinita the other day at Tesco’s and she said Mark was getting another crew together to head to Ghana, but we didn’t talk much about it because I asked her about that artichoke dip recipe she was meant to send me after the last party we went to at Ben’s, remember how much you liked it? And –”

“Harry,” Louis interrupts, butting the side of his head into Harry’s shoulder. “You know Liam’s got limited time when he’s on here.”

“Oh,” Harry says, and Louis watches the flush of his cheeks slide down his neck, under where he’s got his free hand twisting at the cross he wears on a chain there. “Right. You go, Liam. I’ll save that for Friday next,” he says with a smile, dimples carving deep into his cheeks. “Seven sleeps. Louis made me a countdown calendar on the fridge.”

“About that,” Liam says, biting at his bottom lip. “The Ghana trip. I’m heading that up, actually. Got to pick my people and all.” Liam grins almost bashfully and this is a big thing for Liam. Louis knows this. Knows that it’s really important and all, but . . . .

“How long?” Louis asks, because Harry’s just looking pleased as punch with this news, the reality of it not sinking in yet. 

“Only six this time. Just have to set things up like we have done here and I can come home.”

“Six days? Six days is fine. That’s nothing,” Harry answers, and Louis can see him working things out in his head. “I’ll be done with my exams then and we can go on a proper holiday. I know Mum wants us to visit and I could probably get the bungalow from Robin –”

“No,” Liam says, shaking his head, looking almost pained because Harry sounds excited and an excited Harry is something they both sort of find endearing. 

Louis squeezes Harry’s hip gently and answers for Liam. “Weeks, Harry. Six more weeks.”

“Oh.” 

Liam calls Harry’s name softly as Harry crumples a little, his weight pressing in on Louis’ side as reality sinks in. “Six weeks. Right. Couldn’t do it in days, yeah. Silly of me to think,” Harry says, his voice already sounding wet as Harry blinks and blinks onscreen. 

“I know it’s a lot, babe, but they need me and I can help and –”

“No, I know,” Harry answers, but he’s already pulling out of Louis’ hold. Pressing two fingers to his lips and then to the camera like he does whenever he and Liam sign off. It’s their thing and it makes Louis’ heart ache, the pit of his stomach turn cold. 

“Babe,” Liam tries again, Louis calling Harry’s name too as his arm drops, hanging limply by his side now Harry’s turned and gone. It’s no use, though, Harry’s already calling out a wet “Love you,” as he wanders off down the hall to where their bedrooms are. 

Louis blinks and looks back at the screen where Liam’s scrubbing at his face with his hands. 

“I should have talked to him first. We’ve never been apart this long and now I’ve just doubled it. I’ll tell them I don’t want to do it. I’ll –“

"You bloody won’t,” Louis interrupts, ferocity in his tone at the idea of Liam giving up on something he’s worked so hard for. “You’re finally getting the recognition you deserve for what you do over there. Harry’ll be fine. It’s just a shock or something. You know how proud he is of you. We both are, Payno.” 

“You are?” Liam asks, eyes soft. Louis’ heart aches a bit, seeing how much Liam still needs that reassurance. Still needs someone to tell him he’s done a good job. Those fucking bullies who made his life miserable when Liam took up choir after school when they were ten still have a lot to answer for. 

“Yes, mate. So proud. This is a grand opportunity for you. You do what you need to do and come home to us in one piece, yeah? I’ll look after Harry. Even let him talk me into staying in tonight and playing Scrabble.”

“You hate Scrabble,” Liam answers, sounding a little choked up on his end as he blinks hard, his eyelashes clumping together wetly. 

“Yeah, but. Gotta keep your boy happy, don’t I? Promised you I would. Still will. You’ll be back in no time.” 

Liam grins, looking a bit less wobbly than before. “You’re such a good mate, Lou. Always looking out for me. Looking after Harry for me.”

“Not much to do there,” Louis says, feeling a bit like a dick because here’s Liam thanking him for being attentive and only minutes ago he was wondering what Harry’s hands would feel like on his own skin. God, he’s a shit. A world class shit. “Harry’s a grown boy, pretty much looks after himself.”

There’s a voice calling from off screen that Liam looks up at, nodding and answering in a language Louis doesn’t understand, but the frown on Liam’s brow tells him all he needs to know. “You go save the world one kid at a time, Liam. I’ll hold down the fort. Six weeks is nothing in the long run.”

Liam sighs and the lines crossing his brow lift, though not completely. “Six weeks. Not long at all, just . . . just look after each other, yeah? I’ll see you,” Liam says, and he’s gone before Louis can say a goodbye of his own.

Louis stares at the blank screen for a bit, wondering why six seems somehow a lot more than the near eight that Liam’s been gone so far. He’s coped well, really. They both have. Skype calls are great when Liam has the time, although Louis gets to talk to Liam a little less than he sometimes wants because he feels like he should give more of that time to Harry. Six weeks and Liam will be home and Harry will be occupied with Liam, again and Louis will be back to going out with Liam once a week and Harry another and maybe he’ll find time to go out and find a Harry of his own. 

Until then, he tidies up the bottles, folds the Scrabble board up, and ignores the words as they slide away, tiles falling mostly into the bag, a few on the floor. He turns off the lights and telly as he makes his way down the hall, a heaviness to his steps that has more to do with Liam’s news than the sleepiness he’s been fighting off for the past hour. His limbs are weary as he strips his shirt off, leaving his room in darkness as he shuffles toward his bed. It’s only when he slides in, shivering a bit at the cold sheets, that he lets himself feel. He’s sad for Harry, who was excited at getting his boyfriend home, and he’s sad for himself because he’s really missed his best friend. Liam was right about being away from Harry for the first time, but he’s sort of forgotten that it’s the longest _they’ve_ been apart, too. 

It’s because of that, when he feels more than hears Harry enter the room, he pulls the duvet back with one hand, not bothering to talk. Harry slips in quick, fitting his body against Louis who wraps his arm around Harry’s shoulder, pulling him in. There’s too much sadness to feel awkward about sleeping like this tonight. Too many feelings at having Liam so far away, and far away for longer than either of them prepared for. He ignores the way Harry’s shoulders shake after a few moments, ignores the warm wet tears that Harry cries over Louis’ chest as well. He just holds Harry tighter until they both fall asleep. 

It’s fine when he wakes up alone the next morning. He didn’t expect Harry to stay. 

He pretends it doesn’t hurt that he wasn’t proven wrong, just gets up and finds his car keys. He figures that even if there was no real winner with the game last night, they both deserve a little comfort in the form of greasy hangover food this morning. 

If he puts on Liam’s strawberry beret just to get a smile out of Harry when he walks back in the door a half hour later with two bags of McDonald’s breakfast finest then, it’s all part of the job innit? Keep Harry happy at all costs.

Even if the price weighs a little heavily on Louis heart.


	2. Chapter 2

Harry’s quiet the next day. He’s quiet the next few nights, too.

Louis knows it’s because he’s taking things in, trying to sort out being a proper supportive boyfriend and hating the fact Liam isn’t coming home on the date he promised. Louis knows this because he’s feeling it, too. Well, without the boy in the boyfriend part, but as a friend all the same. 

The night after they receive Liam’s news Louis has to work an evening shift at the bar, which means he gets in a little after two. It’s dark when he comes in, Harry having left the entry light off. Louis takes off his shoes and heads straight for the bathroom, desperately needing a wee. He takes a quick shower, too, needing to wash off the grime of the night, but he’s too bloody tired to do much more than suds up and rinse off. It’s late so he figures Harry’s asleep, there being no sound as he creeps past Liam and Harry’s door and heads to his own room in naught but a towel around his hips. Harry’s a heavy sleeper, slept through the last two times Louis burnt toast and their touchy smoke detector went off, but Louis doesn’t want to wake him if he doesn’t have to. 

He puts on a clean pair of pants that he laundered earlier in the day, throwing a load of Harry’s in the wash, too, because sometimes he could be nice like that. It’s a bit warm in his room so he doesn’t worry about a shirt, just slips under the covers and hopes as tired as he is, sleep will come quickly. It doesn’t, though, as he lies there and kicks the sheet around for a bit until finally it all feels right. 

He’s _just_ about nodded off when he hears his door creak open. It should startle him, but Louis knows who it is, and even though his head is telling him this isn’t a good idea, he still finds himself pulling the covers back in a wordless welcome. 

Harry pads across the floor softly, the creak of the bedframe shifting loud in the otherwise quiet room as he shuffles in beside Louis.

“Thanks,” he whispers, inching closer to where Louis is lying on his back. 

Louis shrugs and tries to lie still but it feels awkward. He knows that Harry is a snuggler – has heard it from Liam and witnessed it himself of late – which is why he finds himself tapping at Harry’s shoulder. 

“C’mere, then,” he whispers, opening his arm up to Harry. Harry sighs softly but shifts into Louis’ space, curling into his side with Louis’ shoulder as his pillow. Louis pats at Harry’s side as best he can as Harry makes himself small, legs and arms all scrunched up close to his body.

Louis lies there and tries to keep his breathing even, make it seem like he’s more than okay with how they’re lying, and he is, but it’s still _Harry_ and he’s still _Liam’s boyfriend_. They’ve hugged before, it’s fine and it’s nice to have someone in his bed, even if it’s just a friend. Still, it doesn’t stop his lips from finding the top of Harry’s head for a light press before he succumbs to slumber himself.

If it’s one of the best sleeps Louis’ had in years, there’s no one he needs to let on about it.

Except that it sort of becomes a habit, a ritual of sorts. 

He probably should question why he doesn’t pause before pulling back the covers when Harry knocks softly at his door each night. He maybe should be worried about how it’s so easy to let Harry pull Louis’ arm around him as he rolls over, Louis effectively becoming the big spoon to Harry’s little. He really should question his reasoning when he starts coming home to Harry already curled up on the side of the bed that Louis’ desperately tried not to think of as Harry’s own. Harry needs the comfort and Louis is happy to give it. It’s what Liam would want him to do. 

And it sort of feels nice to fall asleep to the sounds of someone else’s breathing. To have something to hold that isn’t just his pillow, like those nights before when he’s felt a bit too lonely, the bed a tad too big to be sleeping in alone. 

It’s only until Liam comes back, surely. Six weeks. Less now that a week’s passed.

The thing is, thirty-something days is actually a really long time.

Really, _really_ long.

More so, when all Louis has to count them down is working at the bar at night and Harry’s hands on his body whenever he’s not at his classes. Harry and his bloody need to practice and be perfect for his prac, and Louis’ inability to say no. 

Because this is another thing he’s helping with.

Part of Harry’s course is to complete practical hours with a licensed masseuse. It’s great for Harry, gives him something to do in the day instead of think about Liam, whose latest Instagram was flying over Treeeneeedaaad or wherever it is that he was obviously hired to help out for something more than his atrocious spelling. Harry still kips in with Louis, but he’s up bright and shiny every morning, cooking Louis’ breakfast on the hob. He’s near vibrating with energy, a wide smile and a kiss to Louis’ cheek as he bounces out the door every morning in his black scrubs that have the school’s purple flower logo on his chest. It starts off great for Louis, too. Not having Harry underfoot in the day with his moping about Liam being gone even longer or his inadequate attempts to _not_ look sad when he notices Louis watching is lovely. Louis has the flat to himself from eight until four and he actually manages to get some writing done.

The first week.

The second, Harry is actually allowed to start touching customers. It means he comes home a little more tired, a few extra lines around his eyes that say he’s had a long day on his feet. You’d think this would mean even more quiet time for Louis. Harry eating whatever Louis’ heated up from leftovers or cooked from scratch in the few recipes he has in his arsenal. He’s learned a lot from Harry since he came along. Added to his mostly count-on-one-hand repertoire of chicken parma, spag bol and one of those packet mix vege stir-fries which really just require a hot oiled pan and his attention. 

They sit on the floor in front of the coffee table eating most nights, with match highlights on low on the telly. Harry regales Louis with stories of what he’s seen and who he’s worked on and anecdotes of life behind the curtains. Louis laughs and isn’t sure if he should believe _everything_ that comes out of Harry’s mouth. Harry’s awful at telling stories, seems to take forever to get to a point, or even have one. Yet it’s endearing to watch his face light up, hands traveling in front of his body this way and that as he reenacts different scenes and explains hilarious parts with gusto. As the week goes on Louis feels a little lonely in the house on his own so it’s nice to hear Harry’s voice, no matter what he’s talking about. 

It’s what has him prompting Harry to talk more in the third week. Louis offering to massage Harry’s feet when Louis catches him wincing a bit as he toes his shoes off in the entry and hobbles down the hall. Louis may not be the one studying Harry’s “craft” but he does know he gives a decent foot rub. He'd helped out his mum when she had the first set of twins and Louis was still living at home. It’s sort of nice, empty plates on the table, Harry lying down on the sofa with his feet in Louis’ lap, banging on about his day with a soft smile on his face. Feels sort of comfortable, meaningful as Louis notes the lines around Harry’s eyes fading with every good strong press of Louis’ thumb into Harry’s arch. Has Louis feeling ridiculously happy that he can just help out, be needed by someone for something. It’s what Liam would want. Keeping Harry happy. Even if it sometimes feels like a step too far with how good it leaves Louis feeling himself. 

It’s nothing, though. Just mates helping out mates. Nothing at all different from when Harry was practicing on Louis’ own feet or his back and shoulders before. 

Until Louis rolls out of bed and twists his foot the wrong way on one of Harry’s slippers, wrenching his shoulder attempting to right himself. It hurts, is the thing. It hurts as he tries to wash himself in the shower. It hurts as he sits at the dining table attempting to write one-handed, giving up after a paragraph which he’ll probably only delete later. It hurts even when he’s lying on the bloody sofa, heat-pack on where it aches most, looking forlornly at where he’d put his cup of tea but can’t quite reach once he’s got settled. It still hurts hours later when he hears Harry’s key in the lock, his voice calling out a hello that Louis tries to answer, failing as he hisses when apparently even answering back is too much. 

Any hopes that Harry didn’t pick up on that sound are dashed as Harry near runs around the corner, curls flying and eyes wide with worry. 

“What’s wrong? Are you poorly? Why didn’t you call!” Harry scolds, kneeling down on the rug beside Louis, hand cupping Louis’ jaw as he looks over Louis’ face. 

Louis frowns, shrugging Harry off as his cheeks heat and then curses for the movement setting off a twinge in his back again. Fucking fuck. 

“I’m fine, just pulled a muscle or something – _Harry!_ ” Louis whines. Harry gingerly shifts him forward, pushing at the heat-pack as he slides a hand under the neck of Louis’ shirt, a soft touch over his skin.

There’s a furrow to Harry’s brow that Louis can’t look away from. Impossible to, really, with how close Harry is, his breath playing peppermint sweet over Louis’ cheek as he leans in. He’s always chewing gum, that one. Reminds Louis of candy canes at Christmas all year. 

“It doesn’t feel like a tear, but there’s definitely some swelling,” Harry notes, pulling back with a murmured sorry as his fingers press a little over where Louis hurts most. “Pop your shirt off so I can get a better look.” 

Harry sounds all clinical but it still doesn't stop the "I don't really think –” from popping out of Louis’ mouth the moment Harry asks. He bites down on the rest of his retort when he notices how seriously Harry is staring at him, arms crossed over his chest.

“Louis, you’ve had your shirt off in front of me far too many times for me to count. Now you either strip off and let me look or I’ll take your shirt off for you. It’ll probably hurt less if you do it yourself.” Harry looks like he means business and Louis knows that Harry only wants to help but, Harry’s been a _lot_ lately.

He’s practically moved into Louis’ bedroom, doesn’t even make an effort to sleep in his and Liam’s bed anymore. He’s cuddly all the time – even more so with Liam’s news – which means Louis has very little alone time with Harry always _there_ , and wanking off in the shower in the middle of the day is starting to feel a little sordid. 

“I’m fine, really, Harry. The heat-pack’s working wonders and I just need to pop a few more ibuprofen and I’ll be right as rain in – _Jesus fuck!_ Some bedside manner you have!” Louis swears as Harry manages to get his shirt up and off before Louis can truly do anything about it. It shifts his arm far too much and he’s wincing, a little out of breath by the end of it.

“I’m sorry, I am, but I didn’t think you were ever going to bloody get it off. I’m trained to do this, Louis.”

“Not bloody qualified yet,” Louis snarks in return, but shuts up quick with a gasp as Harry’s fingertips press into the meat just above his shoulderblades. 

Harry’s quiet, but his touch is mostly soft after that, assessing the situation – Louis gathers – as he remains silent himself. 

“You’ve had the heat-pack on it today?” Harry asks softly, and Louis nods in answer. “I think a little massage might help, but you’ll have to go to the doctor tomorrow if it’s still playing up.” 

Louis nods again, sitting still as Harry continues running his hands over Louis’ shoulder and whispering soft apologies as Louis winces and gasps at different points. It has Louis closing his eyes, anything to focus on the pain rather than how nice it is to have Harry’s rather soft fingertips on his skin. He’s leaning forward – finding himself sort of nodding off if he’s honest – when he’s shaken back to reality with the loud clap of Harry's hands.

“Bed,” Harry says, looking serious. “This’ll work much better if you’re lying down and you can have a nap there after. I’ll order us in Chinese for when you wake up.”

“I don’t think –” Louis starts, feeling a little flushed in the face because it’s one thing sharing a bed with Harry at night and another to have Harry practicing his massage skills with Louis lying on the floor in the living room. On the bed, though? It’s a bit . . . intimate is the only word Louis can think of.

“Who’s the one studying massage therapy here?” Harry interrupts with a roll of his eyes. “It’ll be easier on my back, too, if I don’t have to bend like this.”

Louis looks skeptical but he shifts his legs over the side of the sofa with a huff. He knows how Harry’s spine can act up at the best of times (he’s often wondered _why_ Harry would want to do a job where he’s literally on his feet all day). Harry cheers this little “Yay!” with a brilliant grin. Louis says nothing as he follows him down the hall, trying hard to keep the grimace on his face instead of giving in to a smile of his own at how excited Harry seems at the prospect of getting Louis in bed. On the bed. 

Semantics.

He’s in too much pain to argue all that much, anyway. He lies down on his front as directed by Harry and wills the tension out of his body as Harry shifts his arms this way and that until he’s happy. 

"I’ll be right back, okay?” Harry asks, but he’s gone before Louis can ask why he needs to leave when he’s _just_ got Louis where he wanted him.

It’s quiet and Louis listens to the creaks of the flat, the sound of the microwave on and off, then Harry’s feet getting louder as he treads down the hall. Louis can smell something like olives with Harry’s arrival but doesn’t have too much time to think on it because the bed is dipping to one side as Harry sits down.

“This’ll probably get a bit messy and it’ll be a little warm but it should help, so go with it. It’s not what I’d use normally but –”

“Harry,” Louis interrupts, face half smooshed against his pillow. “Get on with it.” 

Sometimes Harry likes to waffle and sometimes Louis finds it endearing and sometimes it’s annoying and sometimes it's both. This is one of the latter times. 

“Okay,” Harry says, dripping something warm on Louis’ spine. 

“Just a little bit of olive oil I heated up; should do the trick for now.” Harry is quiet and Louis nods as best he can because Harry’s already got his hands on Louis’ skin and just the lightest touch where it hurts the most feels so good.

“Tell me if it hurts too much, yeah?” Harry asks, and Louis promises he will with a hum because oh, oh Jesus, Harry’s actually _good_ at this. 

Much better than all the times he’s practiced on Louis. It’s different and Louis doesn’t know why, but it is and all the tension from trying _not_ to shift the wrong way all day is melting away. Pretty much like the rest of Louis is with every stroke of Harry’s palms, every knead of his fingers into muscle that’s pulled too tight. 

“Is this okay?” Harry asks a little later as he shifts up onto the bed, and oh. Louis’ eyes flicker open wide for a moment because Harry’s actually sitting on his bum. Right above his bum. Fuck. If his cock wasn’t taking somewhat of a little interest in being manhandled by Harry before – only natural, of course – then it definitely is now. 

Louis clears his throat a bit before he answers, hoping Harry will write off how hoarse he sounds to how long it’s been since Louis last spoke. “Yeah, yeah, whatever.” He shrugs and then winces because he’s not fixed entirely yet.

“Okay,” Harry murmurs, getting back to work and really pressing into Louis’ muscles now. 

It feels like he’s a warm slab of clay under Harry’s touch by the time Harry’s winding up, a warm slab of clay with a rock-hard cock right under where Harry’s been rocking back and forth above him for what seems like forever but has probably been an hour. His muscles feel all gooey like where Harry’s been working on him but his dick? His stupid, thinking-only-of-itself dick is so hard he’s almost bitten through his lip to stop groaning every time Harry’s movements have had Louis’ hips pressed further into the bed. The tiniest bit of friction is enough for Louis to start wishing Harry would hurry up and be done so Louis could maybe fuck the bed a bit and get off. It’d be rude to do it in front of Harry. Rude and it would possibly wreck their friendship, because there’s boners between mates and then there’s orgasms, and that’s an entirely different kettle of fish to be concerned with.

“All done, Lou,” Harry says with a soft ruffle of Louis’ hair as he gets up. “Feeling any better?” he asks, but Louis can’t say a word. He’s pretty sure if he did it wouldn’t be anything other than a moan and he can’t. He refuses to be that guy. 

“Oh,” Harry guesses after Louis is quiet for another minute or so. “I’ll let you sleep, babe, just grab a cloth and clean that oil up.” Harry basically says all this to himself, thinking that Louis’ passed out. Louis can still hear the happiness in his voice, a little bit of pride in doing such a great job. If only he knew how good. He probably wouldn’t be taking care of Louis so well.

He comes back a few seconds later and then there’s the drag of a warm cloth over Louis’ back and then the sound of Harry softly closing Louis’ door.

It takes him another five minutes to decide whether or not it’s worth trying to be quiet and also not jostle his shoulder while getting off. 

He doesn’t in the end. But it’s a close call.

: : :

The thing is, though? The massages and the awkward boners? They go on. 

Every day for the next week.

: : :

Louis finds himself restless at around three in the afternoon, coincidently around an hour before Harry’s due home. He wanders about the flat, tidies things that don’t need to be tidied, does the dishes, dusts every surface. Even cleans the bathroom. When he’s moved the kitchen around three times in three days Harry tells him to cut it out, thinking Louis is procrastinating on his book. It’s a little of that too, because he can’t clear his mind of what Harry’s going to be doing when he gets in. He ends up just lying on the bed from quarter to four onwards, shirt off and waiting for Harry like he’s some sort of reverse call-girl. 

Finds himself doing these breathing exercises he helped his sister with when she had panic attacks years ago. It’s stupid. It’s ridiculous that the thought of Harry touching him, _sitting_ on him really, has him feeling like this, but it’s short-lived. The moment, the second Harry really starts to get stuck into the knot of muscle in Louis’ shoulder Louis forgets what he was worried about in the first place. Instead he finds himself having to bite down moans when it feels too good. Choking back groans when Harry shifts back on his haunches for a minute, causing Louis’ hips to press into the bed where Harry’s sitting mostly atop them. 

God, it's this friction on his dick that refuses to fucking get with the program on _not_ finding any part of this sexually attractive. Every single time Harry’s done, wiping at the excess oil on Louis’ skin, Louis has to fake having fallen asleep because his traitorous fucking cock is aching for more than just the tiny amount of friction Harry’s movements have caused. Louis has to force himself to just _breathe_ and not look like he’s ready to bust a nut the moment Harry’s out of the room and shuts the door.

Which, okay, he did do on one occasion, but that was in the beginning when Harry was really working hard on his shoulder. The back and forth action of Harry shifting above him was just too much. Too good.

In Louis’ defence, it has been a _long_ time since he was able to get himself off, what with it being the shoulder attached to his wank hand and Harry just being _around_ always. Still, he feels guilty as shit about it afterwards and washes his sheets the moment Harry’s headed off to work the next morning. If Harry notices later that night when he’s snuggled up against Louis, ready to fall asleep in Louis’ arms, he doesn’t say a word.

That’s getting to be a problem too, if Louis is honest. Having Harry on top of him every other day and in his bed every single night. It’s a lot. It’s a lot of Harry and Harry touching him and being close. The line between being friends and wanting to snog Harry’s face off or get his hands down Harry’s pants to see exactly _what_ he keeps accidentally rolling against Louis’ arse crack when he’s up there is getting a little hard to ignore. 

He’s trying, though. He really is. 

Then it’s Saturday and Harry’s been a little more attentive, a little more clingy after they’ve gone near a week of not hearing from Liam. It’s fine. It happens sometimes when he goes off to visit the smaller villages. Has less time to spend on Skype or having anything other than a satellite to make a call. They’ve dealt with it before and it’s been okay, but Louis never had Harry so in his face like he is now. Harry still insists that Louis needs his shoulder worked on, and no matter what time Louis goes to bed he still ends up with an armful of Harry and a mouthful of hair in the morning for his troubles.

It’s the way Harry smiles at him softly when they wake up together. How Harry clings and whines if Louis tries to get up to have a wee early in the morning. It’s Louis thinking about things Harry would like when he does the grocery shopping on his own. It’s Harry bringing home a bottle of Louis’ favourite wine when it’s _Harry_ who’s had a job offer from the place he’s been doing his prac. It’s both of them falling into each other on the sofa, drunk and giggly when the bottle’s lying empty on the floor.

It’s Louis really missing having someone to do this stuff with, to share his life with, and it’s Harry being _right there_ doing all of these things with Louis. Even if Harry’s not Louis’ it doesn’t stop him from wanting it to be different and hating himself because he shouldn’t be wanting anything like that at all. Even if he has caught himself thinking that he’d never leave someone like Harry for as long as Liam has done, then despising himself for even entertaining the thought.

It’s why he keeps pretending to fall asleep when Harry’s done. Why he gives himself a good chunk of time to push out of mind these ideas of rolling over and pulling Harry in for a snog. 

: : :

The thing is, though, Harry’s actually quite perceptive.

Well, it does take him another week of giving Louis these massages to figure out that Louis isn’t passing out from relaxation afterwards. The day he does is the day Louis is met by Harry’s stupidly long and somewhat dexterous fingers poking into his sides, tickling over his ribs with Harry going on about what a bloody faker he is.

“You’re not getting out of cooking again tonight, Lou,” Harry says through a laugh of his own. Louis’ attempting to wriggle out from under Harry, but his thighs are tight against Louis’ side, knees pressed into the soft space above Louis’ hips. 

“Jesus, Harry, all right, st-st-stop!” Louis whines, reaching behind him to slap at Harry’s hands as best he can, then giving up and pinching at whatever he can reach. 

Harry snorts. "No. You've been doing this the whole time, haven’t you? Bloody making me think I’ve done such a good job – _ouch! Fucking hell, you pinch hard!_ You’ve just been having a nap so I have to feel sorry for you and make your bloody dinner!”

“Well, no.” Harry gets his fingers under Louis’ armpit and oh shit, he’s not supposed to _enjoy_ that but his dick that was already half hard from the massage before is chubbing up even more. He needs to get Harry _off_ him before he gets off.

“Okay, all right, you win. I’ve been faking so you can cook me all the food. Now would you get off, _please_?” Louis begs, raising his hands up in surrender. 

Not that Harry actually gives in. He continues to tickle at Louis’ ribs. “You’re such a little shit, Louis.”

 

“Fuck, off! Get off!” Louis manages to grab one of Harry’s hands and pulls, effectively sending Harry topping to the side which Louis takes advantage of. 

He’s up on top of Harry, pinning his hands to the bed as he basically sits on top of Harry’s waist, much like the position Harry was in before. Harry’s grinning like a fucking loon, not looking put out at all that Louis’ managed to somehow overpower him, which Louis will definitely skite about later. 

Harry wriggles a bit more and Louis pushes down with his hips, pressing Harry’s wrists further into the bed. “Just keep _still_ ,” he commands, and he blinks away his shock at how still Harry goes when he says to, how dark his eyes become because of how Louis’ taken charge. Or is it how tight he’s squeezing Harry’s skin? 

“Say it.” Harry’s voice sounds rough, deeper than normal, and oh . . . Louis knows that tone. Has heard it often enough when Harry talked to Liam on his own, or overheard through their thin bedroom walls when they must have thought Louis was asleep. “Say you were faking.”

Louis’ finding it hard to keep his breathing even, the flush on his face burning down his neck and chest now. He can’t be getting turned on by this. It’s just a little tussle. A tickle fight between friends. Harry pulses his hips up, as if to jostle Louis from his perch, but it does nothing like it. Louis’ moaning before he can bite it back, eyelids flickering as his covered cock rubs against the smooth lines of Harry’s stomach. Fuck. _Fuck_.

Neither of them say anything after. Louis keeps his eyes closed and he can hear Harry’s breathing harsh in his ears. He doesn’t let go of Harry’s wrists and Harry isn’t shifting like he wants him to, either, which is new. Unexpected and new and not good at all.

“Oh,” Harry says, surprised, making Louis open his eyes and take in the pink stain to Harry’s cheeks, the way he’s biting at his bottom lip and making it bloom red. 

Louis frowns and follows Harry’s line of sight and oh Jesus, shitting Christ. Harry’s looking down between their bodies, green eyes wide and pupils doubled in size. His gaze is directed down past his belly button right over the slight curve of Louis’ tummy, between his legs. Oh god. Oh god, no.

The tip of Louis’ cock is poking out from the top of his pants, a blurt of precome bubbling its way up and making the head shiny and there’s no way Louis can talk his way out of this. No way at all. 

He should move. Should get up and leave and lock himself in the bathroom until he hates himself a little less than he does right now. It’ll take a while before he can look Harry in the face but Niall’s got a sofa he can bunk on for a bit. At least until Liam gets home and they can forget all about this. Unexpected boners between friends is fine as long as they don’t _do_ anything about it. Surely they’ll be able to laugh about this. One day. 

Harry’s still looking at him, though, when Louis’ finished squeezing his eyes shut and attempting to think of anything to say that could help defuse this situation. Harry’s still looking down and his lips are so pink and wet and fuck. Fuck. Louis really wants to kiss him. To taste Harry’s lips on his tongue, to see if Harry would kiss him back. If it’s not just this stupid, _really fucking stupid_ thought, on Louis’ part. 

A knock at the front door stirs them both out of their stupor. It’s the only thing that has Harry’s eyes shifting back up to Louis’, blinking as if to clear his head. Louis’ torn, he still wants to kiss Harry so much, to lean his body in a little closer and rub himself off on Harry and maybe get Harry off with his hands or his mouth. 

“Louis,” Harry says on this near whimper of a sound, and Louis doesn’t know what to say, what he’s supposed to answer. 

Someone’s banging on the door again and _fuck_ , it should be a blessing someone interrupting just now but it’s not. It’s not, and Louis hates himself for thinking it but if they fucked off then Louis could see what happens next. If he has to hate himself forever or just for a little while.

“The door,” Harry says, still soft, his focus drifting to Louis’ mouth and then back to his eyes, and his cheeks are just as red as Louis’ feel. 

Fuck the door. Fuck the door, really. Louis wants to say it, but then there’s another bang and it’s a familiar triple knock. The one all three occupants of this flat use and two of them are here so that only leaves one more. Harry’s eyes widen with recognition, or maybe he just realised the position they’re in and this was such a bad idea. So so bad, and Louis isn’t sure whether to be relieved or not as Harry’s sliding out from under Louis and out the door. Louis collapses to the bed, squeezing his eyes shut and berating himself quietly before he whispers it into the mess of sheets below. 

“Stupid, stupid, _so stupid_ ,” he repeats to himself as he hears Harry near run down the hall calling out, “Just a minute!” as he goes. Louis’ stomach turns to lead the moment he hears Harry’s shriek of surprise as he gets the door open because there’s only one person he’d react to like that. 

Liam.

Liam’s home.

Early, evidently, considering they haven’t been able to speak in a week because of where Liam’s been working. There was only a quick email Tuesday just gone to say he’d be out of range until he came home. Louis and Harry had just assumed he meant for the next week and a bit until he was due to return. 

And here Louis was seconds away from cupping the back of Harry’s neck and kissing his rosy red lips like he’s been desperately trying not to think about for far too long. Louis swallows hard, takes a few deep breaths in and out and focuses on how Liam’s return is a good thing. It means no more Harry in Louis’ bed. No more massages and sitting on the sofa too close and doing everything together when they don’t have to be apart for work. It means being able to distance himself from Harry, from his smile and his laugh and that look he gets all soft and warm when the bloody McVities advert with the kittens comes on and Louis has to pretend not to get emotional himself. It means no more easy quiet that feels a little too comfortable when it’s just them on the sofa. Louis with his glasses on looking over his draft notes and Harry pulling on his bloody bottom lip, deep in thought as he pores over another of his massage textbooks.

Of course, it also hurts that it is the end of these things. 

Because Harry isn’t his boyfriend. Harry’s just a mate. Louis’ best mate’s boyfriend, to be exact, and Louis’ can’t – won’t – jeopardise the friendship he has with Liam over a passing fancy. That’s all it is. Just too much time spent alone with Harry and too much time alone himself. 

It’s better this way. Will be better, anyhow. Once Louis’ had a shower and willed his still half-chubbed dick down. Fucking traitorous bastard. Now Liam’s home he and Harry will probably like to have the flat to themselves for a bit and Louis has no real excuse not to go out and pull. He’ll call Niall, have a few drinks at a few clubs and find someone for the night. Maybe two. 

When he sneaks down the hall to the bathroom it’s only to catch sight of Liam and Harry on their bed, the door not entirely closed. Pushed maybe, but not latched in their haste to get in and get naked and touch after nearly four months apart. Liam’s already got his shirt off and his trousers undone if the way they’ve fallen down a few inches over his bum is anything to go by. He’s kissing Harry soundly as Harry’s hands wander over Liam’s back, his shoulders and the ridiculousness that is Liam’s biceps. They look good together, is the thing. Right. It makes Louis’ heart pang and his gut twist with the thought of what could have happened only minutes earlier. 

It was probably all one-sided anyway. He’s saved himself a slap, is the thing. A slap and a friendship that’s been the only important part of Louis’ life for as long as he can remember.

Still, his breath hitches when Harry’s head turns to the side, Liam’s lips focused on Harry’s neck and chest. Louis doesn’t blink when he catches Harry’s green, green eyes. He can’t tell what’s written there. What it means that Harry isn’t the one to break their gaze first before Louis backs away and softly shuts the door.


	3. Chapter 3

“Oi, Tommo! Get up!”

Louis ignores Liam’s voice and snuggles further down under his duvet. He’s managed to ignore Liam’s wakeup calls for a week now he’s come home. Louis’ planning on making it to two. 

“ _Louis_ ,” Liam whines, jumping on Louis’ bed, sending him jostling. Okay, maybe his luck’s run out. “Louis, come on! Come out for brekky with me. I’ve not really seen you since I came back.” 

Liam’s jumping awfully close to where Louis is curled up close to the edge of the bed and he’s liable to bump Louis right off if he doesn’t stop it now. 

Louis throws back the covers from his face and fixes a smiling Liam with his best glare. “It’ll be a bit hard for me to come out with you if I break my legs because you’ve bounced me off the bed!”

Liam jumps a few more times, chocolatey brown eyes disappearing into slits as his grin widens. “Knew you’d change your mind eventually!” he crows before sitting himself at the bottom of the bed. He turns and tucks one foot under his knee eyes on Louis, and Louis has to reschool his face into something less fond and more annoyed.

“We’ll hit that cafe you love, full english and black pudding, yeah? My shout.”

“Not that one on Church Road with the squeaky cheese,” Louis notes, shuddering at the thought. 

Liam laughs and shakes his head. “Nah, that’s Harry’s place. Thought we’d go to that one near our first flat, yeah?”

Louis’ eyes light up because they haven’t been there in forever. They’d been in second year when they found this little greasy spoon of a place. Both too hungover to go far, but still felt the need for food that could hopefully soak up some of the booze they’d drunk the night before. Louis maintains they weren’t lost while looking for it, but it still took them another five times to find the place again after. Best black pudding he’d ever had, and a bloody great big pot of tea to share to boot. Even had Yorkshire, which – with all the fancy places opening up in town – was beginning to become a bit of a rarity. 

It sounds good. Really good. Almost like something they’d do before Harry came along. It’s stupid that it makes Louis happy to think like that, especially with how close he’d been with Harry while Liam was gone. But Liam’s back and he’s asking to have time just with Louis and he’ll selfishly take it, whatever he’s being given. 

"Won't Harry mind?” Louis asks as nonchalantly as possible, staring past Liam to the wall beyond. 

Liam shakes his head. “He’s got work today. They called him in for a paid day now he’s finished his prac.” 

Great. Second choice again. It’s ridiculous that he feels like this. He’s not Liam’s and Liam is _definitely_ not his. He thought he was over this but . . . apparently not. He tries to keep his face neutral but it’s hard. Liam grinning at him like an excited fucking puppy and Louis feeling like he does and Liam notices, because he _always_ notices. His eyes change and his bottom lip drops as he sits down on the bed beside Louis’ feet. 

“Lou, I miss my best friend, yeah? Let’s make a day of it. Get some breakfast – well, lunch really by the time you get up –“

Louis kicks out at Liam for that and Liam gives him an “ _Oi!_ and catches his foot. 

“You know what you’re like,” Liam says with a laugh, tugging at Louis’ ankle over the duvet. Louis can feel it like a brand, heat radiating from his light touch. “It’s been quiet here without you. I don’t like it. I mean, it’s great being with Harry and that, but I missed you, too. Need some quality Tommo time.”

Liam’s looking at him with his big chocolate brown eyes and his brows raised and his stupid pouty lips and oh fucking hell. Fine.

“Fine, but I’m ordering the extra beans and eating half of your bacon,” Louis says, throwing the covers back, mostly aimed at Liam’s ridiculous face. Liam only chuckles, shoving back at Louis before ducking out of the road of Louis’ pillow, bouncing out the door while Louis grumbles about having nothing to wear. He’s been so busy not being in their flat that he hasn’t had a chance to do any of his washing.

This could be a good thing. A day with Liam. Catching up on what went on over in Africa, how everything is going now he’s home. How things are with Harry. His boyfriend.

Louis closes his eyes and breathes, hands tight on a pair of jeans that are suspiciously folded on top of a pile of things Louis had dumped in his room the day before. He brings them to his face and the smell of Harry’s special bloody brand of laundry wash is right there. He knows Liam had to head into the office yesterday so that means it was Harry who washed them. The folding was all Liam, though; Harry was pretty much like Louis when it came to actually doing that part.

It shouldn’t make him feel as good as it does, being cared for by both of them like they have done.

“Get a move on, Louis! Breakfast stops at half one and I’ve not even heard your feet hit the floor!” Liam’s voice calls from down the hall, sounding full of excitement, and maybe this could be okay.

Maybe he can actually catch up with Liam a little bit. 

Not because Harry isn’t going to be there. No. He’s missed his mate, is all. Missed having Liam to himself and hearing all his stories. How one of the mums kissed his face all over when her little boy basically came back from the dead because of the medication Liam’s people could provide. Watching Liam’s eyes crinkle up when he gets all fond over some little kiddie learning how to say his name.

 

Liam is just so bloody lovely is all. Lovely and selfless and such a good person and Louis had near tried it on with his boyfriend.

Louis wasn’t worth being the shit on the heel of Liam’s boot, really.

Maybe Liam doesn’t know. Harry obviously hasn’t said anything – Louis hasn’t received a black eye or been kicked out yet, so maybe it’s all in Louis’ head. The touching. The looking. Harry licking his lips and staring down at Louis’ hard cock.

The way Harry’s eyes never left his when he spotted Louis at their door.

All figments of Louis’ imagination. Probably. Nothing _actually_ happened. So really, there’s _nothing_ to worry about.

He sets all manner of thoughts down that road from his mind as he throws on his favourite black Vans. Pulls on a jumper that could possibly be one of Harry’s by the lingering scent of Tom Ford and a touch of Diesel that Liam’s been wearing for years now. It makes his chest ache a bit, but he shrugs it off. He can’t afford to think about either of them properly right now. 

Breakfast, though. Breakfast and a natter with Liam. That’ll be fine. He can invent some reason why he needs to skip out on the rest of the day if it gets too much. Another friend he has plans with. A shift at work that he suddenly needs to pick up.

It’ll be fine.

: : :

It’s not fine. It’s nowhere near fine because Liam is so fucking _happy_. He’s so obviously in love, judging by how much he talks about Harry in the first ten minutes that they’ve sat down, waiting on their food order. There’s only so much tea Louis can drink instead of talking without Liam finally catching on.

“You’re a bit quiet. Been havin’ a big one, have you? I noticed you’ve been gone a bit since I came home.”

Louis shrugs and grins up at the waitress as she brings their plates over, steaming a bit in the cool air. They’ve got great low-priced grub at Nikki’s but it is bloody drafty. Neither of them have taken off their coats. It’s been rainy as fuck for the last week and the below-average temperature makes it feel more like the beginning of winter than mid-summer. Louis’ glad he threw on his jumper, even if it twinges something in his chest every time he gets a whiff of the combined cologne woven in its depths.

Louis takes his time, scooping his mushrooms onto Liam’s plate as Liam pops over his extra bacon. Then it’s pouring on the HP on Liam’s side before doing his own while Liam shakes some Worcester over their beans. They work in this odd synchronised breakfast routine, something that comes from years of practice. Louis pours the tea, Liam doctors them both with milk after and Louis screws his nose up at Liam adding three sugars. It keeps them both quiet for a bit, tucking into their food, and Louis sort of hopes that by the time they’re done Liam will forget about wanting to know why Louis’ not been home. 

Liam mostly goes on about how good the homemade beans are. Louis about the black sausage still being the same, proper frisbee-size, while they’re mopping up the mix of sauce and yolk on their plates with stray pieces of toast. It’s no wonder, then, that Louis ends up being lulled into a sort of false sense of security by the familiarity of it all. It’s when Louis’ pouring them both another cuppa that Liam manages to turn the conversation back to where he was at the start.

“This is really nice, yeah?” he says, and Louis can’t help but match Liam’s grin, feeling that bone-deep sense of contentment that always comes from spending any amount of time with his best friend. 

“Yeah, missed having you around. When are you leavin’ again?” He winces a bit when Liam’s foot kicks out at Louis’ calf and has them both snickering. 

“Missed you too, ya great twat,” Liam answers with a shake of his head, no heat behind his words. “Really, though, where’ve you been skipping off to? I mean, it’s nice that you’ve given me time with Harry and all.”

“Stayin’ at Nialler’s a bit. It’s closer to work and I’ve been on lates.” Louis stirs at his tea even though it doesn’t need it.

Liam nods like he understands, sipping at his tea. “Yeah, but not even seen you in the day. Harry said you’d been having a bit of trouble with your novel?”

Louis flushes a bit at this. He hates talking about his writing. Hates the fact that since his life seems to be in this limbo his words seem to be, too. “I’m ahead but yeah, a little snag, but I’ll be fine if I leave it.” Christ, every word out of his mouth at the moment just feels like a lie. 

“Leavin’ it for a bit might help. Harry said you wouldn’t have been able to write anyway with your shoulder and all. Said he’s been helping you with that, too? He’s good with his hands, isn’t he?” 

Louis doesn’t need to look up to hear the fondness that’ll be written all over Liam’s face. He’s always had this _look_ when he talks about Harry. About anything that Harry’s accomplished or tried. It’s similar to the one he used to give Louis whenever Louis did well at something, like the day he finally passed his A-levels or when they both got into Manchester Uni or when he’d gotten that three-book deal from Bloomsbury. 

“Yeah, helped me a lot, actually.” Louis tries to keep the tightness in his chest out of his voice when he answers. Focused on a scratch mark on the top of the table instead of looking at Liam’s earnest and interested face.

“Went on and on about how quickly you got better. Thinks he’s bloody magic, he does!” Liam says with a laugh and oh god, Louis’ food is swirling in his stomach. He manages a chuckle of his own, running his the pad of his finger over the slice in the table top that feels worn and old.

“He’s been doing me once a day since I got in. Gets right into the knots in my back that I didn’t even realise were there after all that travel and stress, I suppose. Makes you feel really good, if you know what I mean.” Louis doesn’t need to look up to know Liam’s got a bit of a blush on his cheeks. He’s never been able to talk to Louis about anything sexual without getting a little flushed. There was a time when he’d stutter over a word like “cock” but that was a long time ago now. 

“Why d’you think I’ve been giving you the flat to yourselves, yeah? You’re not exactly quiet, Payno,” Louis jokes with a wry grin. Every shift of muscle in his face feels telling. He really hopes Liam isn’t looking that hard.

Liam squawks, though, and a bark of laughter almost reminiscent of Harry’s fills the caf. The old man with a newspaper boy hat a darker shade of grey than the one Niall wears looks at them over the top of his newspaper. Louis ignores him. It’s taken a lot for Liam to be loud and express himself properly in the time Louis’ known him. He won’t let anyone shut Liam down now, even if he is a little inappropriately loud for such a small space.

Liam taps at Louis’ ankle with his foot. “That’s not the only reason you’ve stayed away, though, is it? Because we can –”

Louis traps Liam’s foot with both of his own, brow furrowing sharply. “It’s fine, Li. It’s not like you haven’t had to listen to me over the years. It’s nothing.”

Liam’s grin softens and oh, there it is again. That look. The one that borders on pity and Louis _hates_ it. He looks around for the girl who brought their food over; she only gave them a little jug of milk and Liam likes his ridiculously white. Anything, really, but watching Liam look at him like he is.

“Been a while, though, yeah? Since you brought anyone home.”

Louis shrugs, shifts his feet back under his chair, tucking the left over the right. “Home, maybe,” he answers, because he’s not a fucking _monk_ , all right? It happens when you rely on flirting at the bar to get you a few extra pounds from drunk lads and lasses. Sometimes the lads are fit and if he times it right, the bogs don’t stink completely of vom and piss. His uniform black jeans don’t show stains if he gets on his knees anyhow.

Liam’s face changes for a moment, but it’s gone before Louis can decipher it at all. “I mean, yeah. But it’s sort of not fair if you don’t get to have anyone in your bed, is it? Someone to cuddle in the morning, get a cheeky handy off before you try and make them breakfast and burn the toast?”

Louis scrunches his nose and pours them another cuppa. He’ll drink his black if it means he can occupy his mouth and Liam's to get away from this conversation. It’s not that he doesn’t want what Liam’s talking about. It’s just . . . for the past two months he’s had that and it’s sort of Liam’s fault that he doesn’t anymore. His pillow and sheets don’t even smell like Harry now, and the fact that he knows that and feels fucking gutted over it makes it all the worse. Fuck. Maybe Liam’s right. Maybe it’s time he did get out. 

Before Louis can find a proper answer that isn’t “Well, you could just give me back your boyfriend” or “Maybe I could join you as well,” he notices Liam tapping away on his phone. He sips at his tea as Liam gets that sappy fucking smile on his face that he only does when he’s talking to Harry. Harry said Liam looked the same while Louis was up visiting his mum at Christmas, but Louis doesn’t believe him. He’s never seen it, anyhow. 

“Right!” he says with a clap of his hands after putting his phone in his pocket, grabbing his wallet from the other side. “Finish off your cuppa, we’ve got work to be done.” 

Louis harrumphs because in no world has he ever been one to drink his tea fast, Liam knows this. Especially more so when he doesn’t know what the hell Liam wants him to hurry for in the first place. 

“What ‘work’ would that be, Liam? The only thing I’ve got planned for the rest of my day is napping followed by a sad attempt at sorting out this plot hole and probably a round or ten of FIFA before I fall asleep somewhere after midnight.”

Liam takes the cup from Louis’ hand, which Louis tuts about, but Liam’s already swilling the lot. “Nope, nothing like that in your future, mate. We are going out!”

: : :

Liam’s version of going out and Louis’ version of going out aren’t exactly on the same page. Hitting bloody Westfield to find the right “pulling” outfit wasn’t on his list of things to do. It _is_ nice imagining Liam’s eyes darken when Louis walks out of the change rooms in H &M with a ridiculously tight pair of black jeans on that make his thighs look amazing, not to mention his arse. If he gets to ogle Liam’s toned stomach when he’s trying shirts on in the middle of the fucking store, then it’s a price Louis’ willing to pay. 

They grab a late lunch at the food court and it’s greasy and so good and watching Liam grin at him – just him – from across the table is worth it. Having Liam reach over and thumb at a bit of sauce at the corner of Louis’ mouth is something that he pretends doesn’t send a shiver down his spine. Especially when Liam’s eyes turn all soft like melted chocolate as he says all fond, “Bloody mess you are,” with no heat behind it. Louis laughs it off, standing up quick and putting the bags of shopping in front of him so Liam won’t see how he’s fucking half hard from Liam just touching his mouth. 

It’s just been them all day, and having Liam’s undivided attention is something that Louis hasn’t had in a while and he’s relishing it. It reminds Louis of how it was _before_ Harry. When days out like this were regular and pre-gaming with jägerbombs and shots of orange juice and vodka – because it was all they ever really had when they were at uni – were common on Friday nights. God, it’s just so _good_ to have Liam around again. To talk and laugh and touch, because Liam’s had his arm around Louis’ shoulder the whole time they were at the shops. 

Louis’ all bubbly on the inside from watching Liam run around the flat half-naked while he tries to get dressed, coming in and out of Louis’ room to check that he looks all right. He finally decides on some dark jeans with those terrible chunky boots he favours and a tight fitted tee that makes his biceps look obscene. Louis seriously considers locking himself in the loo to pull one off with how much of Liam’s skin he’s seen today and how giddy Liam’s been since he decided they should go out. He’s kissed Louis’ cheek a billion times. Even had a bit of a flush to his skin as he caught the corner of Louis’ lips on one memorable occasion when Louis found the shirt Liam was looking for in his size. 

Harry’s not been a thought that’s entered Louis’ head. Well, not often. 

It’s not even like Liam’s mentioned him, really. A quick note about getting a text from Harry that he's going out with mates from work and not to wait up when Louis and Liam were picking up dinner from the curry place around the corner from their flat. It should be weird that Liam didn't ask him to join them when he was done or offer them both to meet up later, but Louis’ isn’t focusing on that. It’s their relationship. Not his. It's none of his business where Harry is tonight. He has Liam and Liam’s all over him and it’s probably Liam being his friendly self and Louis’ going to believe that’s all it is. 

The weirdness that developed between him and Harry while Liam was away was nothing. The fact that he wants to kiss Liam every time he sees him lick his lips after taking a shot is nothing. All these feelings are Louis’ issues, that’s all. Doesn’t help the pang of guilt in the bottom of his stomach. He can shove it down, ignore it, a fact that gets a little easier the more shots they drink and pints they knock back as the night goes on. 

The music isn’t all that bad at the club Liam drags them to just off Deansgate, and when a new DJ starts just after ten it gets a bit better. This bird’s doing all these great mashups of new and old songs and it has the crowd pumping. She has Louis on the dance floor, one hand raised, a finger pointing skyward, drunk as fuck. Liam moves like a cross between a robot and a spider, throwing shapes this way and that with a smile on his face that looks a tad eerie whenever the blue and green strobe lights wave down through the crowd. 

The hour must be getting late judging by the way Liam’s getting more touchy. His hand hasn’t left Louis’ hip for at least the last three songs, that Louis can remember. They’re dancing close and Liam’s got this stupid grin on his face – the one he has whenever he’s three parts pissed – and his lips keep grazing the shell of Louis’ ear whenever he leans in, each song “my fucking favourite, mate!” 

Louis’ blood is buzzing and his head’s a bit fuzzy and Liam smells _so fucking good_. He might press himself a little closer to Liam because of it, turn his face into Liam’s neck a bit more, the tip of his nose grazing the underside of Liam’s jaw. Lips so close to that smudge of colour a darker shade than the rest that makes up Liam’s birthmark. There was a time when they were young and dumb and Louis always thought it was hilarious that he’d suck a mark there. Seal his lips around it, press his teeth in and mark Liam up like he was his own. Liam would always huff about it after, but Louis had caught him a few times pressing his fingers to the bruise later. A hint of a smile on his face before he’d shake it off, the moment gone. 

That was back in sixth form, and as much of a laugh as it was then it probably wouldn’t be now. Louis closes his eyes instead, concentrates on the beat of the song thrumming through his veins. What he doesn't expect is Liam shifting his knee between Louis’ legs, grinding against him. Liam’s hand slips a little low over the middle of Louis’ back, thumb tucked just inside the waistband a point of searing heat on Louis’ skin. It’s too much. It’s far too much, his mouth dry as fuck now. He licks at his lips, tasting salt and bitter cologne thick on his tongue, too close to Liam’s throat not to taste it. 

Liam shivers and pulls Louis closer and fuck it. Fuck it. Before he can even talk himself out of it his mouth’s on Liam’s birthmark, tonguing the heated skin there before he’s sinking his teeth in. His grip on Liam’s shoulder tightens as the vibrations of sound from Liam’s throat pass over his lips and Liam’s hands slip down over Louis’ bum. His fingertips spread out and he’s near cupping Louis’ arse cheek, lifting him onto the tips of his toes. Jesus, it’s like he can feel every point where they’re touching now and it’s too much. Louis pulls back and he can’t even make out where Liam’s birthmark is, it’s buried under dark red, but he can’t help but buzz his lips there again, a light touch. Liam turns his head and even with the music so loud he can still hear the thickness in Liam’s voice when he speaks a low, “Fuck, _fuck_.”

This is the point where Louis should probably stop this. Should kiss Liam’s cheek and get them both a water at the bar. He should turn around and dance away and laugh it off like it was a joke all along. A tease between friends.

He can’t, though. He can’t because Liam’s still holding him tight and close and his breath is almost cool as it fans over the side of Louis face. He’s grinding his hips in time with the music or maybe it’s the beat of Louis’ heart, but they match. This staccato of sound that’s as heady in Louis’ ears as the scent of Liam’s sweat and cologne all mixed is all around him. He’s so fucking gone in this moment. This piece of time that feels like it should be in that last year of uni when Liam was single and a bit sad after Tom broke his heart and Louis was trying to help pick up the pieces by taking Liam out and near _forcing_ him to have fun. They’d kissed that night. Rolled around on Liam’s bed and Louis probably would have sucked Liam off if he hadn’t of passed out mid-snog. 

It’s been a long time since Louis’ thought about that, but tonight . . . tonight feels different and Louis doesn’t know why.

He’s so focused on how Liam’s holding him and how good it feels, pressed up close to Liam’s firm chest, his fingertips mapping the broad expanse of muscle that make up Liam’s shoulders and back. He’s so focused on Liam that he doesn’t feel Harry behind him until he hears Liam whisper his name against the shell of Louis’ ear. 

It’s too hot now, too hot being this close to Liam and having Harry near caging him in. It’s Harry’s hand on the opposite hip to where Liam’s still gripping Louis’ arse. It’s Harry’s chin on Louis’ shoulder as they shift and move together and Louis can’t _breathe_ , the air’s too thick, too heavy between them. God, he needs to be out of here. Needs to go. He takes a step back but Harry’s right there, the length of him impossibly close to Louis’ back and a “Stay” from Liam in one ear before a “Please, Lou” from Harry in the other. Louis shifts his head, hides his face in Liam’s chest as best he can, not knowing what else to do.

They dance like that for longer than Louis can count, each song flowing into the next and Louis letting all the drink he’s had turn his body pliable to Harry and Liam’s touch. Harry links their fingers together over Liam’s hip, his curls tickling against Louis’ cheek as he turns his head eventually, needing room to breathe something that isn’t Liam’s skin. Liam’s hand shifts from Louis’ arse but the heat there isn’t gone for long, Harry pressing in even closer, this warm weight at Louis’ back. He’s fucking _surrounded_ by them both. His mind flickers back to that conversation with Niall. How he thought they wouldn’t mind if Louis was on the dance floor with them. Louis’d laughed it off because no, but here and now? Maybe Niall saw something that Louis hadn’t before. Hadn’t wanted to.

They probably think it’s a game. Dancing like this with their single mate, Lou. Good old Louis who hasn’t got someone like they have. Hasn’t got laid in so long because they’d have heard it. Their walls are thin, after all. He can’t do this. Can’t be between them like this. Not now. Not now that he’s gone and fallen a bit for Harry and added to the crush he’s had on Liam for far too long. They’re not his, either of them. Not in any other way than as mates, and even as good as this feels, it’s gone on for far too long.

Louis pushes back, tries to make some space but somehow Harry turns him so Louis’ got his back up against Liam now. Liam’s noticeably hard cock is pressed up against him and fuck, he’s hard himself, he knows, but it’s _different_ feeling Liam like he is now. Harry’s smiling at him, though, dimples so deep in his cheeks and his green eyes lit up from the flickering light around them. His lips look bruised and bitten and Louis’s never wanted to kiss someone more. He really _needs_ to leave, to find someone, anyone to fill this gaping hole in his chest even if it’s for one night. 

Then Harry’s moaning, Louis can read it in the way his eyes widen, pupils blowing out dark as he reaches past Louis’ shoulder and fuck. Fuck. He’s seen Louis’ mark on Liam’s skin. Apologies and excuses form on Louis’ tongue but then Liam’s got his hand on Louis’ shoulder, tilting it down so Louis has to turn his head to the side. He doesn’t expect Harry’s lips on his skin. Can’t rein in the pulse of his hips as Harry bites down and Liam’s fingertips rub soothing almost from his shoulder down to Louis’ elbow and up again, a circuit that has his skin tingling and heat flooding his body everywhere from deep in his gut. It’s so fucking _hot_ having Harry at his neck and Liam behind him and he can’t breathe, can’t do anything but wait for Harry to finish and will himself not to fucking nut off in his pants.

 

Harry’s lips travel wet and hot up along Louis’ jawline, soft at his cheek as the love bite Harry left behind throbs at his throat. His lips, _fuck,_ Harry’s lips brush the corner of Louis’ own as Liam’s at his ear, his breath this whisper of a thing. 

“Fuck, so hot, Lou, so hot you two together.” 

Harry’s looking up between them both, smiling like the cat who got the fucking cream and he’s leaning back in and no. No. 

It’s too much and Louis doesn’t understand it, won’t let himself feel it like he wants because it isn’t right. It’s not. He can’t have them both like this. Can’t have either of them because they’re together. They’re not Louis’, not like that. Even if he’s maybe given it a spare thought in the dark of his bedroom late at night when Harry’s moans echo through the wall and the sound of skin on skin is too loud in his ears to let him sleep. He shouldn’t _be_ here. This has gone too far already. 

Louis pushes out from between them, shakes off one of their hands – Harry’s from the cool touch of rings on his fingers – and escapes through the crowded dance floor. His chest feels like it’s about to cave in but he can’t. He can’t stay and watch them dance together, watch them move and touch and act like what they were doing was anything like platonic. Friends don’t . . . they just don’t act like that, and Louis was wrong to stay between them as long as he had. He slips across the street, giving the finger to a car that he just scrapes past, and ducks into the nearest club. He’s thankfully let in the door by one of the bouncers he knows from his own bar who must be moonlighting for the night. 

He heads straight for the bar and orders a double vodka, lime and soda plus a further two shots of vodka on the side.

He doesn’t want to _think_ anymore, is the thing. 

Drinking his weight in alcohol will hopefully do that.

: : :

He doesn’t remember entirely how he got here, outside his door with this _boy_ pressed up against his back, laughing as Louis tries and tries again to get his key in the fucking hole. He shushes him – Jeff, Jim? – as they enter the house, near falling in as Louis finally gets the door open. He shucks off his shoes and turns, pressing the other lad to the door, kissing his lips hard and fierce as he grips sweat-slick hair, dark curls he vaguely remembers twisting around his fingers. This other boy kisses well enough, a bit too much tongue, but Louis’ so turned on and so fucking drunk that he doesn’t really care. Not enough to stop. They grind against each other and Louis jumps up, wraps his legs around this lad’s waist as he pushes off the door and grunts, both of them laughing between each kiss. 

“Where’s your room, mate?” he asks and Louis nods backwards, nipping at the lad’s ear with a “Down the hall, last on the left,” as they move, John maybe, hands cupping Louis’ arse. They bump into walls, knocking at picture frames filled from Harry’s photography class. Louis flicks on the light so they don’t die on the way, shushing this lad because “They’re sleeping, my boys are.” 

Jack laughs and Louis quiets him with his lips. He’s pressed up against a door that is either the bathroom or Harry and Liam’s and he should probably worry about that, but not now. Louis moans loudly as the other lad is kissing down his jaw, tonguing at a bruise Louis’ felt pulsate all night. The one Harry gave him while Liam held him fast. It makes something twist darkly in his chest but he ignores it. Turns his head because he doesn’t want this boy _there_ and drops to his feet, tugging at the other lad’s hand with a smirk, walking backward toward his door. 

Louis can pick them. He can. This lad’s awfully fit. Tall and broad-shouldered with dark wavy hair that curls around his ears as he shakes his head out to the side, flipping it back. His eyes are dark and his lips are full and red, a dimple carved deep in one cheek but not the other. He’s fucking gorgeous and Louis ignores how much _younger_ he is. There’s a snatch of conversation about being twenty or near it that Louis remembers when Jacob was buying him drinks at the bar. Maybe it was nineteen. He fucking hopes it wasn’t eighteen but Louis is too turned on to ask again. He’ll worry about that when he’s sober in the morning. 

Jerry pushes Louis up against his door and he’s got his hands on either side of Louis’ hips, fingertips pressed tight at his waist so there’ll probably be marks later. Fuck, Louis’ so hard as this boy licks his lips, dropping to his knees and reaching for Louis’ fly all at once.

“Bedrooms right here, behind this lovely door y’know,” Louis says with a gasp, hands clenching into fists against the door as this lad breathes warm and wet over his cloth covered cock. 

“Wanna suck you first, then we’ll fuck,” he says with a wicked grin, and Louis’ laugh is cut off with a moan when this lad has no hesitation – or gag reflex – and sucks him down to the root. 

Louis closes his eyes and bites at his lip as this lad goes to fucking town on his cock. It’s wetter than Louis likes it and he doesn’t focus on the head where Louis’ the most sensitive, but a blowjob is still a blowjob and Louis’ too drunk to give instruction. This lad’s fingertips are pressing hard into Louis’ thighs and Louis keeps forgetting to bite back loud moans because it feels good, as mediocre as it is. 

“Hey,” this lad says, making Louis open his eyes and look down. His lips are swollen and he wipes the back of his hand across them with a grin. 

“Be loud, yeah? Wanna hear how I make you feel.” 

Oh _fuck_. 

Louis’ too drunk for this, muscles loose and bones even looser as this this kid, this pretty thing with obscene cheekbones, sucks him down like he can’t get enough. 

“Fuck, okay . . . okay,” Louis repeats. This lad takes Louis’ hand from the door and rubs it up against his head. Louis gets the picture, fists his fingers into Jason’s dark curls and tugs. The other lad moans around Louis’ cock and it starts to feel better. He blinks slowly, looking down, and for a second he sees Harry there and he blinks hard again and it’s Liam but with Harry’s curls and fuck. He’s so fucking _drunk_ and coming down this lad’s throat with sharp punches of his hips that he probably should have warned him about.

He drags this boy up from off his knees and kisses the taste of himself from this lad’s tongue. Kisses him deep and with eyes wide open so he doesn’t see anyone else. Think of anyone else, because it would be rude and Louis can’t. It can’t be anyone else and this lad should be enough.

“C’mon then, I think you mentioned something about fucking me, Jo,” Louis says, nipping at the other lad’s earlobe, hand fluttering beside him for the knob of the door.

“George,” he says, as Louis gets the thing open, letting them both inside. “Name’s George.”

Louis doesn’t say anything else as he toes the door shut behind him, just grins and pushes George back onto the bed, stripping his clothes off as he goes.


	4. Chapter 4

He pretends to be asleep when he hears George shuffling about in his bedroom. Lies there feeling more and more sick as he hears his door softly snick shut, closes his eyes tight and wills himself to sleep a bit longer. When he wakes up again he’s not sure if it’s guilt or the overabundance of brightly coloured cocktails he consumed at the bar last night that has him running for the toilet, sicking up in technicolor rainbows twice before he feels like he can get back on his feet. He avoids the mirror as he brushes his teeth and nicks a capful of Harry’s mouthwash before crawling under his covers in bed for a kip. The sun isn’t even making it through the windows properly yet, there’s no way he needs to be up right now.

It’s definitely guilt that sits heavy in his gut hours later when he wakes up properly. It was stupid taking the boy back to his room and fucking loud and hard and making his bedframe bang against the wall where his room backs onto Liam’s. It’s stupid that he did it and it’s stupid that he feels bad about it when he’s done nothing wrong. He shoves his feet into an old pair of Harry’s slippers that he finds under his bed and shuffles out to the kitchen where he can smell Harry’s regular Sunday fry-up wafting down the hall. Liam and Harry are rather quiet when Louis limps in, arms crossed over his chest and head cast down. They don’t say anything and he doesn’t either as he fills up a glass from the tap, necking the water in a few gulps just so his stomach has something in there. 

Louis winces a bit as he sits down at the table. Fuck, he'd forgotten what it felt like to really take a pounding like he did. It wasn’t _great_ sex, but he came and it was nice to feel wanted, to have someone look at him like he was _something_. Christ, though, he really has to start to remember he's not so young himself anymore. He can’t just lie back and think of getting off with no consequences the morning after, as he sits more to one side. He’s not bloody getting a pillow, though. Maybe he should have taken Harry up on his offer to do yoga a few months back. A bit more flexibility would help if he’s going to actually try going out and pulling again like last night. If he does.

He almost looks up to ask Harry about it, yet the words still in his mouth when he notices how they’re both not actually making a sound. They’re really quiet, not even talking to each other. Liam’s pouring Louis a cuppa and Harry’s at the bench buttering toast. Louis sits there and sips the tea Liam pushes over while Harry puts down a plate with a bacon sarny smothered in brown sauce in front of him. He mutters a soft thanks and starts eating but he can hear every crunch of food as he chews down. Liam’s sitting there staring at his mug with both hands wrapped around it as if it holds all the answers. Harry’s back at the bench, scrubbing it to within an inch of its life. It turns Louis’ stomach a bit, seeing how far apart they are. How tense the air feels around them all. He’s not entirely sure whether that’s because of how nice they’re still treating him or how strangely bad he feels about George and the loud sex. 

Liam and Harry aren’t even bothering to make conversation. Harry moves on to washing the dishes when he’s done with the bench and Liam sits there turning his cup in circles on the table top. It’s so strange, when usually on days like this there’s banter and Liam and Harry snuggling a bit, or at least teasing Louis some. He expected it. Hoped for it so it wouldn’t be awkward. This, though, this is not so much awkward as it is this feeling of near hurt around them. The silence sits heavy in Louis’ gut, making him push away more than half of his sandwich. He can’t keep it in anymore. 

“Some night,” he offers, after clearing his throat. 

Liam makes a sound that could be anything, really, as Harry joins them. The scent of his green tea with jasmine wafts across the table. 

“Yeah,” Harry says in return while Liam stays silent. He’s not even looked up in the whole time Louis’ been here and it hurts. It’s like a heavy weight sat on his chest and it’s not fair that he’s being made to feel like this.

They’re the ones who trapped him between them. They’re the ones who pulled him close. Even if he didn’t push them away until it was all too much. It’s not fair that he had to make that call.

A siren blares from the street, shaking Louis upright. Liam picks up their plates and takes them to the sink, not even asking if Louis was done but it’s obvious he is. Harry pulls his legs up on the chair, somehow managing to balance with his knees pressed close to his chest, resting his cup on top of them. He’s looking at Louis with these big eyes and a face Louis can’t read. He’s not as adept at understanding each of Harry’s looks like he is Liam’s, but Liam won’t _look_ at him at all. 

The bruise on his neck throbs and he reaches up to cover it, a heat under his hand that probably isn’t there as much as he thinks it is. He feels it all the same.

He catches Harry’s eye when he rubs at it, putting his hand back in his lap when Harry doesn’t say a word, just sighs a bit. This is so fucking _stupid_.

He’s not sitting here being made to feel like shit anymore. He pushes his chair back slowly and Liam doesn’t even move from his spot at the sink. He hasn’t even turned the water on. 

“Sorry ‘bout, you know,” Louis says, tucking his hands under his armpits. Harry shrugs with a slow smile, but it’s not real. It’s not even one he tries all too hard with, no dimples piercing his cheeks. It doesn’t reach his eyes, either. Liam says nothing. 

Louis stands there for a second more, his words feeling more like an apology for pulling someone that wasn't them, instead of pulling and being _loud_ like it was supposed to be for.

Fuck.

Bringing someone home and getting off wasn’t meant to leave him feeling like this. This is what they wanted. What Liam virtually told him to do, fucking well _dragged_ him into. It’s ridiculous that they’re both making him feel like he’s done something wrong. 

He won’t stand there and feel judged by them or by himself. He turns and heads back to bed, pulling the covers well up and over his head. He just can’t deal with this, any of it, anymore.

: : :

He doesn’t see Liam when he gets up later, shuffling into the kitchen to make himself a tea when his stomach finally feels settled. Doesn’t see Harry, either.

Louis hides in his room after pinching the last pack of prawn cocktail crisps, Hob Nobs and a bottle of Coke from the pantry that he’ll drink warm, gross or not. It’s not like anyone seeks him out to say anything about it. He hears them later, around eleven or so, shifting about the front of the house. The shower turns on and off twice before their bedroom door closes and the house is still once again.

Louis is still awake for a few hours more but that’s probably the caffeine from nearly two litres of tooth-rotting pop he’s drunk. He lies there in his bed, eyes on the ceiling, and wills sleep to come. He just wants this weekend done and dusted and to move on.

: : :

When he wakes up to silence on Sunday he showers and gets dressed, leaving the house to fuck about at Niall’s until near midnight. When he gets in, the hall light is on and it doesn’t look like anyone’s been up for a while.

He goes to bed, a little tipsy from the beers he and Niall consumed while playing FIFA, trying not to care that he’s being stonewalled.

: : :

On Monday he pulls out his laptop and starts writing.

The block, it seems, is over.

Shagging was maybe a good thing, if the way he seems to be able to throw himself into writing is anything to go by.

It’s not that he’s ignoring Liam and Harry. He’s just _really_ in the zone or whatever. He begs out of work for a week because he’s got some savings and he’s basically holed up in his room with words flowing. It’s not that he’s being unsociable. They didn’t talk to him for two days, so if he waits an extra few when they finally start showing face then yeah, it’s petty but no one ever said he wasn’t. 

If he doesn’t eat at the dinner table with them when he hears Harry call out that it’s ready, it’s purely because his main protagonist is having an existential crisis that needs sorting. If he doesn’t respond with anything other than a nod when Liam leaves a cup of tea on the side of his desk, taking away the empty mug from hours before, it’s because he’s blocking this fight scene that’s imperative to the rest of the entire series. 

He’s not hiding. He’s not.

: : :

_Lou,_

_Gonna be staying at Harry’s place for a bit. Give you some space so you can write without us in your hair._

_Love you, Liam xx_

: : :

The thing is, Louis didn’t even know Harry _had_ a place of his own. Ever since the third or maybe the fourth time he and Liam had a date, Harry sort of was just _there_ in their flat. A year and a bit and Louis can’t proper remember a time that Harry _hasn’t_ stayed over, or Liam being gone apart from his trip to Africa. It makes him wonder why Harry even stayed here when he could have been at his own place, missing Liam as much or more than Louis did. 

Which is probably why he did stay, really. 

It's why it makes it a lot harder now, without either of their voices when Louis wakes up. No Harry forcibly lining up their shoes at the front door – Louis’ fallen over his own runners three times since they’ve been gone. No Liam singing in the shower at night. No one to agree with him when Louis’ watching a marathon of Geordie Shore and shouting at the TV over Charlotte and Gaz being made for each other. 

It’s quiet and it’s awful and Louis hates it.

He still won’t call Liam, though. Ignores the fact that they haven’t called him, either.

It’s quiet and it’s lonely and Louis hates it so much.

: : :

He finishes the first draft of his second novel by the end of the first week they’re gone.

: : :

When Harry’s special washing powder runs out two weeks after radio silence and an empty house, Louis might have a moment in the aisle. He buys two boxes and tells himself it’s because they’re on sale that week. Even if he’s only saving a few pence at the time.

If he goes a bit overboard and actually cleans the house top to bottom, making sure to wash his dishes and put them away each night, it’s not _for_ anyone specifically. He’s just trying something different, is all. Being responsible or something. Not in hopes that anyone might drop by and see that he’s trying for once. Not at all.

: : :

Louis’ kept their bedroom door closed and looked the other way when he’s walked down the hall since they’ve been gone. After a hard night at the bar when he can barely fit the key in the door and drag himself inside, he finds himself waking up swaddled under their duvet. He blinks a bit, slow to recognise he’s not in his own room. He certainly doesn’t have a picture of Harry and Louis asleep on the sofa curled up like kittens together on his bedside table. Or that god-awful clay bowl filled with hairbands and coins Louis made when Harry dragged him to pottery class, sitting on the other side. 

He rolls over with a groan, finding he’s cuddled up to a pillow that smells like Harry and upon further inspection, Liam’s sleep shirt tugged over it like some weird perfect mesh of the people he misses most. He doesn’t remember making it and there’s no one here to see how red his cheeks must go, judging by how hot they feel as he buries his face into the cotton that smells like them both. 

It’s weird, he knows it’s weird. Still doesn’t stop him from sleeping in their bed every night after, the _LiamHarry_ pillow held close in his arms. 

: : :

He still doesn’t call them. Doesn’t text. 

He does open their group message, hoping to see bubbles appear that they’re thinking about him, too.

They don’t come.

: : :

He’s been sat staring at his screen for at least an hour. Maybe more. He wrote a sentence after he made breakfast, a shitty bowl of three different cereal remains because he’d not been to the store and since no one else was living here, the pantry didn’t refill itself. Thing was, Louis’d deleted that particular line and three above it when he made a cup of tea not long after. Had gone back and rewritten an entire scene from the start of chapter four yesterday, and the day before he’d wiped out the whole plot of the second part.

So he’s a little blocked again. It’s not like it’s something he hasn’t dealt with before.  
Just . . . there’s no one to take his mind off things right now. No Harry to massage his shoulders and they are fucking _aching_ of late. No one to bust in and tackle him to the nearest flat object and tickle him until he’s laughing too hard to remember why he was staring at the screen in the first place. No one to make him come out and have a kick about so his mind will still enough to have ideas and fix its fall into place, like tumblers in a lock. 

He misses them. Harry and Liam. He really does.

It’s shit without them and it was awkward when they were last here, yeah, but it’s awfully lonely with no one here at all.

He stares at the screen for another hour before he picks up his phone. It takes two rings before it’s answered and Louis smile lights up when he hears the voice on the other end.

“Tommo, mate, what’s the craic?”

Louis twists around in his chair, legs crossed under him and a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Neil, do I need a reason just to hear your voice?”

“Nah, mate. Just not heard from you in a bit. Figured you were busy with your book or your boys.”

Louis’ face falls a bit at the mention of them. How easy it is for Niall to refer to them as his when they’re not. They’re each other's, as they’ve made obvious by ignoring him for near on a month now. 

"Sort of,” he answers, picking at a hole at the knee of his joggers. Maybe they’re Harry’s because he’s had to roll the cuffs up a few times and Harry more than Liam appreciates a comfy, worn-in pair. It makes his smile fall a bit but he rallies on. “Anyway, need a break or summat. Feel up to a cheeky pint at the pub?”

Niall laughs and it’s that infectious sound that Louis’ missed. Misses any human contact at all, really. 

“You remember who you’re askin’, right? I’ll meet ya there in a bit.”

Louis rang off and looked down at his clothes. If he was going to meet up with Niall – even if it was just at the shitty local that was halfway between their places – he’d probably have to get dressed properly. Possibly even shower, considering he couldn’t quite remember the last time he’d done that.

He steals some of Liam’s shower gel like he always does, and washes his hair with Harry’s shampoo because Louis’ never bothered buying either of his own. It makes him miss them a little less and it’s ridiculous that it does, but it does. Three weeks is a long time and the space that’s become between them is getting so wide now that Louis’ afraid he won’t know how to bridge the gap when the time comes. If it does. Fuck. He just needs to get his mind off things for a little while. Having a few pints with Niall and a laugh is bound to do that.

He pulls on his jeans and a white undershirt with one of Liam’s dark gray button-downs over the top. He has to roll it up a few more times to get it over his elbows but the weather’s been a bit all over the place of late – even for August – and who knows where he’ll end up with Niall, so looking a bit smarter than normal might help. He throws on his trusty Vans, finds his wallet under a pile of receipts from the food he’s had delivered and his keys under one of the sofa cushions after he spends fifteen minutes searching for the things. All in all, he’s probably ten minutes later than he thought he’d be when he finds Niall at the back of the pub in the garden, two pints in front of him and another three-quarters drunk. 

"Oi, Oi!" Louis says after messing with Niall’s hair and dodging a jab from him with a quick twist out of the road.

“Oi y’self! Took me an extra minute to do me hair, ya wanker!” Niall frowns at him a bit, but there’s humour in his eyes as he pushes one of the spare pints over as Louis sits down. The tables are wooden and rickety but there’s a pleasant buzz from the few people around, the smell of chips and steak heavy in the air. The lunchtime rush is well over and it’s in that perfect part of the afternoon where the sun's still out but enough past the yardarm to take the sting out of it. 

Louis just grins back at him, taking a good swig of his beer as Niall finishes off his first, fingers of his free hand sticking his hair back up to where it was. Mostly.

“Never took you for one to care about your appearance much, young Neil. You steppin’ out on me?” Louis teases, pushing his aviators back up off his nose and into his hair. The light isn’t as bright out here as it was when he caught the bus down. 

Niall flushes pink across his cheeks and oh. _Oh_. “You _are_! Who’s got you actually trying?”

“Laura’s –”

Louis eyes widen. “Laura! After all the times you told us nothing’s there –”

“No, ya prick, let me finish!” Niall interrupts again, cheeks even redder and voice pitched high. “Laura’s mate is in from Australia, right, and I promised to take her out and give her a good time.” 

Louis snorts and Niall throws one of the coasters at him which he fends off with the side of of his arm. “All right then, lad! No need to get violent.”

Niall shakes his head and smiles. “What’s doin’ with you then, hey? Where’s Liam and Harry? Haven’t seen all of you together for a while now. They finally figure out you were third wheelin’ and toss you out?”

It sinks something in the bubble of happy that just seeing Niall always creates. It must be written on his face before he can say a word because Niall’s grin drops, this look of concern etched across his brow. “Christ, mate, I was only kidding but by your face I think we’ll need a few more drinks for this.” 

Niall gets up before Louis can say anything and toddles off toward the bar. Fuck. Niall’s always been so good at reading him. He shouldn’t have thought he could just come and have a few pints and forget everything for a while. His fingers itch for a cigarette, so he lifts his arse and fishes out his lighter and plucks the near empty pack from Niall’s side of the table. Niall won’t mind.

By the time he’s lit up and had a few drags Niall arrives with a tray and four pints as well as a plate of chips smothered in vinegar by the smell of it, and sets it all down. 

Louis still can’t get the idea that Niall knows more than Louis ever was open to thinking about out of his head. He finishes his cigarette off quick, while Niall near demolishes the food and half of his own pint. When Louis stubs out the butt in the ashtray he has a sip for a bit of dutch courage and then speaks. 

“Why do you say that? Like . . . what makes you keep saying that shit, Niall? Liam’s been me best friend since forever and Harry’s his. He’s not – it’s nothing,” Louis finishes, staring back at the table. He can’t look Niall in the eye now. Not when it’s started to feel like it _is_ something. What happened when they were dancing was _something_. 

Niall sighs, wiping his hands on one of the napkins on the tray before he answers. “The fact that you’re sitting here with a face like that and look like every word you say is either a lie or you trying to convince yourself is one reason. You forget I’ve known you all a while, too. You and Liam especially. You’ve always fucking liked him and yeah, you’ve never had a right time but I’d have to be a fool not to see what was going on with you and Harry while Liam was gone.” 

“Nothing happened, Niall,” Louis snaps, voice like ice, because he’s one thing and that isn’t a cheat. He’d never fucking do that to a mate. Especially a best mate. Definitely not Liam.

Niall tilts his head to the side and raises a brow. “Mate, don’t kid yourself. You might not have actually done anything with Harry, but you sure as fuck thought about it. I saw how your face lit up whenever you were banging on about his massages and that was when I _did_ see you. You’d hardly been around since Liam left, and whenever you were it was Harry this and Harry that. I know what a crush is, mate, and you had one bigtime.”

Louis’ face heats as he crosses his arms over his chest. “Fuck you, Niall. Could say the same about you and fucking Laura and you deny it ‘till the cows come home, but I don’t fucking say naught.”

Niall’s eyes narrow. “Laura and I are completely different from whatever the three of you have going on, Louis. One, I don’t live with her. Two, she isn’t seeing anyone, and three, I’ve never asked for your opinion nor do I fucking care for it, so leave well enough alone.”

Louis’ knee is jiggling under the table and he can’t look at Niall. He knows Niall’s right and he knows better than to talk about Laura because it is a _thing_ with Niall. Bringing up whatever it is that Niall and Laura do or don’t do has been strictly off the cards for a long time. It’s pissed Niall off, Louis can see that with how tight Niall’s jaw has become and how hard he’s eyeing Louis.

“I think I’ve fucked it up,” Louis whispers, blinking back the sting in his eyes. He hates talking about stuff like this. Hurting Niall by being a dick when all Niall is trying to do is help isn’t what he wants, either. 

“You could never fuck it up with them two, Louis,” Niall says, his tone a lot warmer than the sharpness of before.

Louis shakes his head, because he has. They’re not even living with him anymore. “I have, though. It’s like you said, yeah? I got a bit attached to Harry and nearly did something stupid. Then I _did_ do something stupid with Liam. They’ve not talked to me in weeks.” 

“Not talked to you? You live together. How does that –”

“They moved out. Well, went to Harry’s. Have been for nearly three weeks.” Niall’s eyes widen as Louis speaks and now he’s said it out loud it sounds even worse. Makes that hurt in his chest ache a little more.

“What? That doesn’t make any sense, Louis. They wouldn’t just leave you.”

Louis scrubs at his face with both hands, hiding from Niall with a sigh. He should just tell him. He’s felt like shit about it all for long enough. “I sort of kissed Liam a bit, on the neck, though! Just like a love bite, like we used to do at college.”

"Oh, Lou.”

Louis leans his elbows on the table, hides behind his arms with his palms pressed against his eyelids. As if not seeing Niall’s reaction will make him feel any different. “It was at this club and we were dancing and we were both drunk and then Harry came and I don’t know. We were all dancing together but it got . . . more?”

“That tail end of a bruise on your neck being the more?” Niall asks, and Louis’ cheeks heat even further as he nods.

“Harry did it. He saw what I’d done to Liam and Liam held me while he did it and it was too much, yeah? So I fucked off and found this lad and took him home, and he was all right or whatever, but the next morning it was awful. It was like I’d pissed them off by pulling or something. Liam’s not spoke a word to me since and Harry’s just been his usual fucking lovely self and then they left. Left me a fucking note and fucked off and I don’t know how to fix it, Niall. I don’t know what to fucking do.”

Niall says nothing and Louis’ all out of words as the pub noises come tumbling back in around them. There’s even fucking birdsong and it just makes Louis feel worse because Niall being quiet isn’t a Niall he knows good things from. A quiet Niall is usually up to mischief or pissed off and Louis doesn’t know what to do if he loses Niall, too. He’s the only one outside of Louis’ best mates that he hasn’t actually ever had a crush on, and not just because Niall’s straighter than an arrow.

“I think I should have bought us shots,” is what he does say when they’re both shocked out of their silence by the arrival of one of the bar lads clearing their table of empties.

Louis laughs even though it hurts his chest and Niall’s smile and ability to crack light in the situation have his fears settling down some.

“The thing is, Lou, it all depends on what you _all_ want to do. I bet neither of you brought it up after, did you?” Niall asks, leaning in across the table.

Louis shakes his head. “I didn’t know what to say and they weren’t talking to me. It was just easier to pretend it didn’t happen.”

“Did you want something to, though? Like, have you considered it properly?” 

Louis takes a deep breath and lets the thought come of what could have happened if he had stayed at the club with them. It’s not as if he hasn’t let his mind wander about that night in the weeks they’ve been gone, but it’s the first time he hasn’t stopped himself. If he stayed, Harry probably would have kissed him. Louis definitely would have kissed back. Liam would have turned his head and they’d probably have kissed, too. Maybe they would have ended up back home, on Harry and Liam’s bed. He would have tasted Harry’s skin, licked the moans from Liam’s mouth, and everyone would definitely have got their end away that night. 

The morning would have been the hardest thing. Waking up on the edge of the bed only to look over and see Harry and Liam curled around each other. Having to near take a walk of shame to the shower and wash away more than just sweat and come – all his feelings and most likely tears as well. Having to pretend that it was just a one-time thing. That it wasn’t because they pitied him. Wasn’t because they wanted to try something different and Louis obviously would be up for it – of course he would, he was single and hadn’t fucked anyone in forever.

They’d spend less time together as the weeks went on, until Louis felt so uncomfortable having to pretend he was fine that he’d end up looking for someplace else to live. He’d wait for them to both be out for a day and pack his things. Sit at the dining table, their regular order of Chinese waiting in the middle until they both arrived home. He’d lie, of course he’d lie, and tell them that he thought it was time he moved out on his own. That he wanted to try being a grownup, or something along those lines. They’d tell him not to and beg him to stay but they wouldn’t mean it, they’d have noticed how weird it was amongst them all now. Still, he’d shrug away their well-meaning words and he’d leave with a promise to keep in touch. Dinner next friday. Five a side in the park the weekend after. 

But he’d be busy and eventually they’d stop asking and then maybe, if he was lucky, a few years would pass and he’d see one or the other of them when he was out at dinner and he’d tell whoever he was with that they were someone he used to know.

“I can’t. I can’t let it be anything because I love them, Niall. Liam’s my best friend and Harry’s pretty much the same and I’m glad it didn’t turn into anything because . . . I just can’t lose them. I can’t.”

Niall finishes off the dregs of his ale, sighs when he puts the glass down. “I think,” he starts, and Louis crosses his arms over his chest. “I think that you shouldn’t write them off, either way. I don’t think it was just booze or whatever made what happen in that club happen. I’ve known you and Liam forever and I know how he’s looked at you for years. Harry looks at you sometimes just the same. I think maybe, if you finally talked about it, this _thing_ that’s been there between all of you, maybe it’d work out better than you imagine, Lou. You three just need to talk.”

Louis nods and then Niall’s phone rings and he grins like he does whenever it’s Laura on the end of the line and it’s clear that Niall needs to go. They part ways and Louis gives Niall a bit of stick about being safe and all with this bird and Niall hugs him a bit harder than normal, a wordless “I’m here for you, idiot” that Louis can near hear in his ears. It leaves him a lot to think about as he heads home, far more sober than he thought he’d be when he organised this earlier. His head buzzes with thoughts that don’t let him rest until the first rays of dawn are filtering through his window.

: : :

A week out from Liam’s birthday Nick drops around the pub one night when Louis’ working to hand him three tickets to Leeds Fest. Louis’d completely forgotten he’d asked Nick about it. It wasn’t as if they were mates or anything, Louis didn’t exactly like him that much but Nick was mostly Harry’s friend. Though it hadn’t stopped him from hooking up with Nick at parties where Louis was bored and he and Nick would goad each other all night until they’d end up fucking in the loo. Or that one memorable time on the photocopier at Nick’s when he joined Harry to sit in on one of Nick’s shows. Nick ran the late shift at BBC Radio 1 and Louis’d asked him months back if he’d look into tickets when they’d sold out and Harry’d not been able to get them for Liam’s birthday. A weekend of mates and music, booze and recreational fun, sounded like the perfect way to celebrate Liam’s twenty-fifth. 

Now Louis didn’t know if he’d see Liam at all.

Still, it gives him the opportunity to open up a line of communication without having to discuss anything of why they are gone and why they’ve been quiet for so long. He hits them up in their group text and has to wait three days before he gets an answer.

They’ll see Louis on Saturday morning, early. Harry’s got his dad’s Range Rover and Liam’s got a tent. All Louis needs to bring is himself.

If only that were enough.

: : :

It’s awkward. It’s awkward and it makes Louis second-guess everything ever when he meets the boys early in the morning at the front of their flat. He’s changed his outfit three times before they texted to say they were downstairs, finally deciding on his jean shorts and an old white tee that was once Harry’s by the look of the faded Rolling Stones graphic on the front. Harry's standing at the front of his ruddy big Range Rover and Liam sits inside in the driver’s seat, car idling. He looks good with his curls tucked away under a grey beanie, legs looking stupidly long in black shorts and a blue tee with the sleeves rolled up showing off the ink on his arms. Harry greets him with a grin and a hug that doesn’t last all that long and leaves a space between them. It sets an ache in Louis’ chest that even Harry’s smile won’t shift. It takes them a few minutes to fit Louis’ lone backpack and Asda bags with booze, Liam’s favourite cereal, and the one type of crisps that Harry will eat that he may have stocked up on the day before in the car and then they’re off. 

Louis calls out, “Happy birthday for yesterday, mate!” to Liam as he's getting his belt on. A quiet _thanks_ is all he receives in return. It's not a lot but it's something, and Louis takes it because it turns out that's all he's going to get from Liam for a while. 

It’s not as if it’s a long drive, an hour or so, but it feels like forever when the catching up that’s mostly between Louis and Harry dies down to nothing. Harry tries to get Liam involved, but after a few hums and grunts and a “Just let me fucking concentrate on getting there,” they both leave Liam out. Harry turns up the playlist he’s made of the bands they might see and none of them speak again until they’re stuck in a line of traffic headed to the campground. 

Liam’s a bit better when they get out and start unpacking. Gives Louis a grin that’s not exactly all the way to his eyes but it’s something, and Louis hangs on to it while they sort the tent out. Not that he really helps. Liam shoves at him with a frustrated laugh to sit down when Louis’ “help” is really just setting them back some. It’s hard not to stare as Liam and Harry set to work getting the tent up. Liam looks ridiculously fit as the navy tee he’s wearing stretches over his back, sliding up a little to reveal his stupidly toned tummy. Louis has to look away, think about anything _but_ the sweat darkening the material in the middle of Liam’s back, the way it’s making the ends of his hair curl.

Funny thing is, the tent’s not how Louis remembers it from when they went away to The Lakes with Liam’s family that one summer. Then again, they were eight so it’s probably that reason that makes it seem so much smaller now. Still, it’s sort of two rooms if they don’t use the front part for their luggage. Then the second mattress has a hole in it and won’t blow up and Louis hasn’t got time to offer to sleep on the ground because Liam shrugs and throws the thing in the back of the car with a “We’ll just kip in together.”

Which is . . . something Louis will think about later.

: : :

The awkward air between them all dissipates under shitty beer, great music and some really good weed Harry comes by from a friend of a friend’s auntie (because _of course_ Harry has a link here). He’s the type to know at _least_ someone wherever they go so it’s no surprise that as the sun starts to set, Harry’s got them hooked up. They pass a few joints between them, hidden mostly in the middle of the crowd while Bastille sing about Bad Blood and not pissing friendships away. It sort of feels like they’re fixing something. 

As Bastille finish off their set with Pompeii, Liam’s got his arm around Louis’ shoulder and there’s fingertips brushing Louis’ hip, Harry’s hand slung low across Liam’s back reaching out toward him. It’s nice, and it sort of feels like an apology on all their parts, setting the tone for the night ahead. They grab dinner after, wandering around a few tents while licking salt and grease from their fingertips. The hot chips they shared with their burgers slightly fills the emptiness in their stomachs from all the weed and beer. The easy banter is back between them as they push and shove each other, apologising en masse, it seems, to nearly everyone as they fuck about, waiting for Mumford and Sons. It feels fucking magic, like whatever it is tonight has sorted out all their issues without any of them having to say a word. Just dancing and touching and laughing and being their normal selves and it’s good. It’s really good. 

If Liam catches Louis’ eye when they’re singing “Cause you were all I ever longed for,” it doesn’t mean anything. It’s just a song.

They stumble back to the tent not long after. Their highs are wearing off and Liam is starting to fucking hang off them both, stumbling along far drunker than Harry and Louis put together. He never was one to drink a lot and smoked up even less. It’s always made him more touchy in the past, giving out hugs and sloppy cheek-kisses to all and sundry. It’s no different this time, when they finally get to the tent, Louis cursing at Harry to hurry up and get the door unzipped as Liam is near squashing him to the ground with how he’s leaning against Louis’ side. 

“I’m really glad you came, Lou,” Liam says, like it wasn’t Louis who asked him along. Liam’s lips are wet and soft on Louis’ ear and cheek. “So, so glad. Got both my boys.”

“All right, Payno, all right,” Louis says, turning his head away a bit to hide the flush to his cheeks that Liam being _Liam_ and so close and _here_ provides. 

Liam’s hand slides down from Louis’ waist, cups his arse and squeezes a bit, making Louis jump and Liam laugh. Harry turns from where he’s got the zip up and tilts his head to the side, grins at them when he must take in what’s going on. 

“He squeezed my bum!” Louis squawks, mostly because being honest feels right about now and Harry snorts when Liam retorts, “It’s a very nice bum. It should be squeezed and squeezed often!” 

Harry comes over and finally fucking helps Louis out, taking Liam’s weight on the other side and nodding as Liam continues to extol the virtues of Louis’ arse and its perfect roundness. He says something else that gets lost in his drunken slur against Harry’s neck where he’s nuzzled in close. If Louis’ face wasn’t red before it certainly is now, and even more so when Liam stops them as they all get inside and manages to stand upright on his own. He cups Louis’ cheeks in both his hands, presses their foreheads together and leans in close. 

“I do love your bum, Lou. I love it a lot. So much. I missed it bunches,” he says with a nod, and before Louis can do anything Liam’s lips are on his and it’s this pressure that Louis can’t escape from. Not that he exactly wants to, if he's honest. It feels like the most connected he's been to Liam all day. Louis stands there frozen as Liam pulls back and near falls face first onto the mattress, snoring before his head hits the pillow. 

Louis turns to Harry and even with the light from Harry’s phone which they’d been using as a torch, Louis can’t make out what the look on Harry’s face means. Turns out he doesn’t have to. Harry takes a step closer, a firm hand on Louis’ shoulder before he’s kissing Louis, too. It’s soft and sweet and over faster than Louis can blink, then Harry’s on the bed pulling a rug over Liam, patting the mattress where he’s left a space between them. 

“C’mon, Lou. It’s late and I need a cuddle,” Harry says, arm outstretched with his hand curling toward Louis, calling him on.

He knows he shouldn’t. Knows it’s a bad idea to do anything like this, no matter that he has no other real place to sleep apart from the fucking ground. He does it anyway, curling up between a passed-out Liam and a sleepy Harry. No sooner than Louis lies down, Harry has Louis’ arm curled around his waist, their joined hands resting over Harry’s heart. 

If sleep comes quick and peaceful to Louis, he’ll kid himself later that it was because he was drunk or still a bit high or just fucking tired. 

It’ll have nothing to do with how right it felt to be sandwiched between Liam and Harry, wrapped up in some sort of love.


	5. Chapter 5

It's fine again in the morning – even better, really – because they're still smiling at Louis when he wakes up. They’ve shifted around in their sleep, Louis now draped over Liam, his head resting on Liam’s chest while Louis’ fucking morning wood pokes up against his thigh. Louis’ eyes widen when he realises, but Liam just blushes and rubs the tips of their noses together. Before he can get out an apology or move, Harry’s rolling over, feet tangling with Louis’ as he presses a quick line of kisses over Louis’ shoulder where his shirt has fallen down. 

Louis doesn’t know what to do with any of that, so he gets up with a quick “Need a piss” and near falls over them both and the tent on his way out.

: : :

Nothing about the morning is mentioned as the day wears on. Their banter comes thick and fast as they fuck about, flitting through this tent and that, catching bands they’ve never really heard of or dancing with people who are off their heads. Louis does catch Harry looking at him sometimes – well, at his lips really – and he blushes each time Louis calls him out, shaking his head and refusing to answer. The one time Louis turns and asks Liam if there’s anything on his face, Liam licks his thumb and rubs at the corner of Louis’ mouth, mentioning something about sauce. 

Louis hasn’t even _eaten_ anything with sauce at that stage so he has no idea what the fuck is going on.

: : :

When they’re chilling out in the film tent, not really paying attention to the Cobain doco because their tummies are full, Harry catches up with another mate.

This time he comes back with a sly smile on his face and a couple of E on his tongue for each of them, which Louis only realises after he’s watched Harry snog Liam for a few moments too long. He doesn’t exactly turn away from Harry either, not even when Harry presses their lips together, his grip firm on Louis’ jaw encouraging him to open his mouth.

That he gave in to kissing Harry in front of Liam so easily should have been a warning about what was to come.

: : :

Taking pills wasn’t the best idea, really. Not when Louis knows what it does to him, to him and Liam anyhow. They’d got a bit crazy at V Fest when they were eighteen and Niall’s cousin Deo was over from Australia and Niall wanted to show him a proper good time. Not only had they dropped E during the day but they’d met up with a few more from Niall’s beloved London Irish Crew and a line or two of coke might have gone their way. Louis can’t remember much of that night but he still can recall with vivid detail the comedown the morning after, waking up to Liam curled around himself in one end of the tub and him in the other. In a bathroom of a hotel that wasn’t their own.

So it really isn’t a great idea to be doing a drug that makes him more handsy and touchy and filled with unadulterated love around his two mates right now. Probably the worst really, but what’s done is done and Louis can only hope they aren’t that strong so he can keep his wits about him.

: : :

He does. To a degree. When it hits, though, it hits Liam first and he’s dragging them up and out because he can’t sit still. By the time they wander over to the dance tent, beats thumping through the air, Louis can feel it it, too. 

They shift and move and somehow get to the middle of the room, pressed in tight like sardines but every touch to Louis’ skin feels _unfuckingreal_. He dances with Liam and then Harry and then both and it’s all fucking smiles all the time and laughter that he can’t hear but maybe feels in his bones. Harry squeezes at his hip and Louis turns to face him, and his eyes are so pretty. Like green but with these fireworks of gold inside going off. Louis gets closer, cups Harry’s face in his hands and drags him down a bit so he can really _see_ them, and that’s when he knows he’s well and truly fucked.

“I’m so fucked!” he shouts at Harry’s face. 

Harry grins in return, his dimples forming caverns in his cheeks. “I know, I know!” is all he answers. 

Liam comes up behind him and puts his hands on Louis’ waist, fingertips pressing deep into the soft flesh above Louis’ hip bones. Louis leans into his touch as Liam tucks his chin over Louis’ shoulder, his breath hot at Louis’ ear. 

“This is fucking _wicked_ , mate!” 

Louis smiles, squeezing Harry’s face in his hands as he nods. Harry’s lips get all squished and he’s saying something but Louis can’t make it out. He lets go of Harry’s face with a laugh, spinning around as Liam tugs at his waist and then he’s dancing with Liam, legs entwined. His whole body feels electric, like every single one of his hairs is standing on end or maybe wiggling to the beat of the song. It’s weird and great and he feels _so much_ that he can’t stop smiling. Can’t stop the bubbles of laughter as Liam pulls faces and shapes with his arms. They’re doing fucking vogue moves and cackling at each other while Harry flits about in Louis’ periphery. 

“I really love you,” Liam says, leaning in after taking Louis’ hands in his own and raising them above their heads. Louis links their fingers together and bumps his forehead against Liam’s. 

“I really love you, too. Always have,” he admits, and it’s like he can’t stop the words from coming out. Liam’s eyes light up with it anyway, and it makes Louis smile even harder. His cheeks are starting to hurt, but then Liam’s mouth is on his and, well . . . . 

Kissing Liam this time is completely different from anything that’s come before. It’s soft and sweet and almost like a conversation. Each press of his lips is words they’ve said before. When Liam sweeps his tongue against the seam of Louis’ mouth it’s like he’s asking a question that Louis can only answer by letting him in. They’re still holding hands, bringing them down beside each other now, and Louis squeezes all the tighter. He lets his eyes flicker over the features he can see of Liam’s face being pressed this close. The strong line of his nose, the telling creases at the corners of his eyes because he’s happy, how dark and deep his eyes are. Liam’s sucking on his tongue and Louis nips at Liam’s fat bottom lip when he finally pulls back, gives them breathing room, but Louis doesn’t want it. He just wants to kiss Liam because it feels familiar when it shouldn’t, feels right when this is just about what made them fall apart near a month before.

Louis can’t concentrate on the whys or the shouldn’ts because Liam’s looking past him, eyes lit up with the red beams of light spilling around them. Louis can feel a hand at his wrist, warm and insistent as it slides over his skin. Liam lets go of his left hand and a whine leaves Louis’ throat but he’s not unhappy for too long because there’s another set of fingers sliding between his own. Liam’s still gripping him tight with his right, but Harry’s tugging Louis to his side, his free hand at Louis’ jaw, cupping his cheek and tilting Louis’ head so their lips can slide together. 

Louis might actually _be_ having an out of body experience. He squeezes Liam’s hand as Harry’s lips press insistently against Louis’ own. Fuck, it’s so different kissing Harry but it feels just as good – even better, possibly, than he ever let himself imagine. It should be weird or wrong that he’s kissing Harry, pretty much snogging him with the way Harry pressed his thumb soft to Louis’ jaw, encouraging him to let Harry in. Liam’s at his side, this heated connection that starts at their still joined hands and the way he’s pressed close from hip to thigh. It feels almost like a do-over of that night at the club. Like this is the what might have been that could have been if Louis hadn’t freaked out. If he had stayed and let them do what they wanted.

It’s that thought that has him pulling back, has him trying to let their hands go, but they hold on tight. His head hits his chest but Liam’s there nuzzling at his cheek, forcing Louis to look up. 

“Don’t – don’t leave us again,” Harry shouts at Louis’ ear, and Liam’s eyes are so dark and big and he’s got the same look as Harry’s words echoed deep within them. 

“Please,” Louis reads Liam’s mouth as they both squeeze at his hands and Louis continues to look between them. He’s tried running from this. From how he feels about them both. From the possibility that Niall was right and there is something more than friendship available here if he just takes a chance.

He’s already tried not to fuck it up and that got him a home full of silence and a heart that seemed to beat wrong.

He squeezes both their hands, takes a step back, and then another. Liam’s face falls and Harry looks confused but they both smile as Louis takes a deep breath and shouts over the music.

“Let’s take this back home.”

: : :

It takes them forever to get back to the tent. Louis; being pulled between Harry and Liam at near every other step they take. It’s been intoxicating. Liam kissing him without abandon, Louis’ arms around his neck, Harry’s hand at the base of Louis’ spine. 

“Want you, want you so much,” Harry whispers at his ear, and Louis has to reach back and grab at any part of Harry he can touch. Needs to hold on, make Harry feel like he’s as much of this as possible. They’re touching, always touching, all three of them. He’s curved around Harry as close as can be while Liam buys them all waters. Liam returning and licking the sweat from the line of Louis’ throat as he mumbles against Louis’ skin, “So hot, so hot my boys together.” 

He gets turned around when they finally finish their drinks, has Liam’s mouth pressed against his own as Liam’s fingers slide under his cutoffs. Louis arches into his touch as Liam pushes the elastic of his pants down so it’s just skin on skin, Harry moaning softly somewhere in the background. Someone yells at them to get a room and Harry calls back that they’re trying, Louis’ not being quite so courteous by flipping them the finger as he continues sucking on Liam’s tongue. 

“C’mon, Liam. We need to move, can’t suck Louis off if we’re in the open like this,” Harry coerces, appearing at Liam’s shoulder, eyes so very dark and his lips bitten and bruised from how hard they’ve been kissing for what seems all night long. 

Liam doesn’t say anything further, just pulls Louis straight up from the ground where his hands have drifted to cup Louis’ bum. Louis makes a surprised sound before wrapping his legs around Liam’s waist. He’s moaning into Harry’s mouth where he pulls him to the side, fingertips soft on Louis’ chin just to kiss him sweet and sound before they’re on the move once more. Harry leads the way, Liam only letting Louis go when they’ve near fallen to the ground three times in the mud. 

They’ve not really stopped touching, though, Harry and Liam grasping one of Louis’ hand each as they stumble the last few steps to their tent. He feels so connected to them both, like a line of electricity is running through each of them, setting sparks at every point where they connect. He doesn’t know if that’s the drug still in his system or if it’s just them. It feels more, anyway, as Liam works on giving Louis another lovebite, right above where Harry’s has finally faded, when they’re finally in front of their tent. 

Feels right, as Harry gets the zip up and reaches back to drag Louis in, flipping his phone over on the mattress so the torch app shines a bright white light to the army green above. 

“Shoes, shoes off,” Harry reminds them – always a stickler for getting mud through their flat so it’s no surprise here – and the three of them bump into each other, stopping to kiss and grope. It takes Louis a bit longer, having decided earlier in the day to buy knee-length wellies that seem to have stuck like a second skin to his feet, unwilling to come off. He ends up falling to the floor, arse hitting something hard which is probably Liam’s boots as he finally gets one black wellington off. He hears a moan and a soft curse and it’s then that he sort of remembers what they were doing before. 

Even with the tiny amount of light they have, he can see them. It’s different. It’s different seeing Harry and Liam like this when he’s been more a part of it tonight. It makes something twist low in his gut, the heat that’s been building there from every touch, every kiss that’s come before building even further just _watching_ them together. He can’t help but stare, breathing shallow and fast as they strip each other of their clothing, attached at the lips. 

Maybe they’ve developed gills or something, because neither of them is coming up for air as Harry’s broad, tanned back comes into view. Louis can make out the birdcage over his ribs, the tiger on his thigh as Liam drags Harry’s jeans down, getting stuck at his knees while his hands become reaquainted with Harry’s hips and up and up. Harry’s not staying still by any means. Louis sees the bright pink flash of his tongue as he kisses Liam dirty and deep. Harry near rips the button down Liam was wearing from his shoulders, knocking off his ridiculous hat that has Louis grinning. 

They’re so beautiful. So beautiful to watch together, already knowing what places to kiss to get a moan out of the other (Harry’s lips wet and shiny on the inside of Liam’s elbow). Where to touch to have the other leaning in, needing to be closer still. Liam’s fingertips tracing the vein of the laurels down and down on Harry’s stomach. Louis has been half-hard most of the night, but this? Watching them is more than Louis ever had a thought of what it could be. More than he’d occasionally let himself imagine when he’d hear them through the wall late at night. Soft moans, and names said so reverently, so filled with love it set Louis’ heart aching for something like that for himself. Someone to make him feel like he was the only person in the whole world who mattered.

It hits him then, that they still sound like that. That essentially, this is what Harry is for Liam, what Liam is for Harry. It leaves him feeling a bit cold. Maybe this wasn’t the best idea. This could change everything for them and Louis knows – can see – how much they truly love one another. There isn’t room for him there. Isn’t a space he can see to fill by any means. Hurt is cloying at his throat, hurt and disappointment and fucking guilt layered upon it making it hard to breathe and he should just go. Disappear into the night. The Oxford Tent has some movie on that he can sack out and pretend to watch. He’ll find them again in the morning and pretend that he can remember nothing. 

He’s just got his hand on the zipper when he hears Harry call his name. 

He stills and shuts his eyes because this is going to make it harder. 

“Don’t leave. Don’t leave again,” Liam says and he sounds . . . he sounds hurt and Louis doesn’t understand it. 

There’s a soft brush of fingers at his hip, his shirt having ridden up as he bent over to escape, and it stills him even further. “We want you to stay,” Harry says, fingertips curling through Louis’ belt loop and tugging back a little.

“Please,” Liam whispers as Louis closes his eyes. It feels so unreal for them to ask. To recognise the level of want Liam can put into one word. How vulnerable he sounds. “We both want you here.”

It’s so quiet then in the tent that Louis can hear himself breathing, his heartbeat ever so loud in his ears, blocking out the sounds of the other campers. It feels as if his chest may break open from how much he wants to give in. Wants to be this for them like they’ve asked, but it’s hard. It’s hard because he doesn’t know what it’ll mean later. What it’ll mean when they wake up.

“Don’t think about it, Lou. Just come here, come to us,” Harry says, tugging at Louis again, sending him back onto his arse from where he was sitting on his heels. 

“Louis,” Liam calls, but Louis is already making up his mind. Already turning and grabbing onto Harry’s hand where it’s skimming across the waistband of his pants. He’s already toeing his last wellie off and crawling toward them. To where they’re both waiting, and god, he still can’t look up. Can’t open his eyes, but he’ll do this. He’ll do this now because he wants them both so much and they say that they want him and he’ll never . . . he’ll never truly know if he doesn’t try.

Liam’s fingers tremble as they touch lightly to Louis’ forehead, slip slowly and almost carefully down the slope of his nose, the bow of his lips, his chin and under, tilting Louis’ head up with the slightest of pressure. He follows, because if anything it’s Liam who can settle him into his own skin. For as much bravado as Louis has in his life, it’s always been Liam who could see how vulnerable he was underneath, see how scared he was of putting himself out there for his career, for love. It’s Liam now who says his name so quietly it’s almost a breath of sound, but it has Louis fluttering open his eyes anyway. It’s Liam with a shy smile that makes that lone dimple in his cheek deepen. It’s Liam who says, “You’re so beautiful, Louis.” 

Louis can feel his cheeks heat because Liam sounds so honest. 

“Can I kiss you? Please?” Liam stumbles a second later, looking almost shy, and Louis can’t get a word out but he can nod. 

Louis can feel every second of space between them as Liam slowly leans in. He stills when they’re almost touching, his breath playing hot over Louis’ skin as his eyes look deep into Louis’ once more. Checking, almost, one last time if it’s all right. It shouldn’t need asking, is the thing. They’ve kissed before. Fucking snogged filthy-like, in the dance tent and years before in uni and college, but this . . . this is so much more. This is Harry with his hand still on Louis’ bum, his thumb drifting back and forth over the dip between Louis’ arse cheeks. This is Harry with his free hand on Liam’s thigh and when Louis flicks his eyes to check with Harry . . . this is Harry looking so fucking turned on. Biting at his bottom lip, white teeth rubbing at bruised flesh like he’s nervous. As if he thinks Louis might still say no.

He won’t. He can’t now. He’s in so much deeper than he ever thought he’d let himself go. It’s sink or swim.

He swims.

It’s Louis who breaks the moment, who closes the space between them and brushes his lips soft against Liam’s own. This is an “Okay, I’ll try” and an “I really want to” and words Louis can’t even begin to say out loud. He’s still so unsure of what the outcome would be if he did. 

It’s sweet how they begin, learning how to mould their mouths together, which way to tilt their heads so tongues can slip inside. It’s like this whole new experience with how they’re taking this. Liam quick to learn, eager to try and make Louis feel good. How when he presses his thumb into the soft skin under Louis’ jaw it will make him open up further, moan a little louder than before. If Louis tongues at the roof of Liam’s mouth in the right way it’ll have him shifting closer, breathe out short and harsh through his nose. It shouldn’t be as sexy as it is. Louis reaches behind him then, finds Harry’s hand still at the small of his back and links their fingers together. He can’t leave him out. Not when, in a way, Harry’s giving him this. They both are, really. Giving themselves to Louis as much as he’s giving them this huge chunk of his heart, not knowing for once where it’s going to find him come the first rays of dawn. 

Harry doesn’t say a word when Liam pulls back, this string of spit still joining his lips to Louis’. He lets go of Harry’s hand to stroke over the smooth skin of his thigh, grip the elastic of Harry's pants and pull him close. Liam makes this soft groan beside him as Louis flicks his tongue out, licks at Harry’s lips, tastes sweat and something like Liam. A surprised whimper leaves his throat as Harry’s hand grips sure and firm at the back of his neck, pulling him in. 

God, can Harry _kiss_.

There’s no air of uncertainty or even waiting for Louis to adjust. It’s just deep and filthy, and _fuck_ if it doesn’t turn Louis on even more. It's as if Harry watched everything Liam did, learned, and now is eager to try it all out and more himself. Louis can feel Liam at his side, tugging at the neck of his shirt, his mouth hot and wet over every inch of revealed skin. He feels spoiled. Feels centred like he never has before, and wanted. So, so _wanted_.

Louis’ hands are restless on Harry’s skin, needing to touch and feel and trace every line of ink Harry has. And there’s a lot. Harry keeps making these needy whimpers into Louis’ mouth whenever he scrapes somewhere sensitive and Louis locks them away. Wonders if he’ll ever have a need to use this knowledge again but keeps them anyhow. Liam brings him back, kisses him quickly as he grips at Louis’ shirt and lifts it up and up. Harry helps him tug it over Louis’ head and then Liam’s kissing him again before turning to Harry and wow. Wow. It’s so much fucking hotter being this close. 

Louis’ doesn’t have a chance to feel left out or worry that he shouldn’t be here again because Harry’s palm lands on his thigh. He wastes no time creeping between Louis’ legs, roughly palming at Louis’ cock, and Louis can’t help but rock up on his knees and into Harry’s touch. It feels so good, but he needs more. They’re both basically naked, only their pants on. Louis takes his chance to pull his cutoffs from his legs. Harry doesn’t let him get too far, Louis manages to get them just over his arse – because one of them’s already undone his flies – before Harry’s telling him to stop. 

Harry pulls back from Liam, licking over his lips as they both turn to look at Louis. God, he can feel the heat of their stare in his very bones as they shift around him. They push Louis to the mattress with Liam’s hands on his shoulders and Harry at his waist, getting rid of both his jeans and pants. Christ, the air is so hot in here but his skin feels even hotter as Liam nips and licks at his collar bones, traces his tongue over Louis chest. His hand feels ridiculously large as he rubs at Louis’ nipple while the other is cupping Louis cheek almost reverently. His thumb brushes the corner of Louis’ lips until he just has to turn his head, taking it into his mouth to suck.

It must be the right thing to do because Liam groans, twists Louis’ nipple harder and Louis thrusts up, knocking at Harry’s hands. Harry’s not been idle either, sucking a bruise in the soft round of Louis’ belly just shy of his hip bone. Palms running circuits over Louis’ thighs, thumbs slipping between them almost shy like, as he spreads Louis’ legs, fitting himself between them. He cries out loud when he feels Harry’s mouth at the base of his cock. This wet, heated trail from base to tip and then, _oh shit_ it’s almost too much when he suckles at the tip. One hand cupping Louis’ sac as the other lies flat against his stomach, holding him down. 

“He’s good with his mouth, Lou,” Liam says, looking up at Louis from underneath his fringe, all dark and curled with sweat. He’s so beautiful, his eyes able to make Louis feel so much with just a look and this . . . Louis _burns_ with it. Louis raises his hand and runs his fingers through Liam’s hair, scratching lightly at his scalp. Liam leans into his touch as Louis caresses his face. Liam turns his head to press his lips to Louis’ palm as Harry takes him down, down, down, into the hot wet clutch of his throat.

He’s never felt like this, had so much going on at once it’s near impossible to focus on one thing. He’s lost as Harry bobs his head and swirls his tongue to every sensitive spot on Louis’ cock. He loses himself in kissing Liam, in how Liam can’t stop touching his chest and Louis won’t let his fingers still as they tip-tap over Liam’s muscled arms. He moans into Liam’s mouth as Harry tugs at his sac, loves how it feels when he rolls it in the palm of his hand while he tongues at the slit. Louis lets go of Liam and reaches down to Harry instead, threads his fingers in Harry’s thick curls and _tugs_. 

The answering sound Harry makes reverberates down Louis’ shaft and he’s close already. Too much of this feels like a dream, a really fucking good one, but a dream because he never truly imagined it would be like this. He doesn't want to come yet, wants this to play out longer, feel this good, this wanted for a bit more. He whimpers something that could be that in words but Liam’s won’t stop kissing him deep so he’s not sure if it comes out. He’s near tongue fucking into Louis’ mouth much like the way Harry’s sucking down Louis’ cock and oh _fuck_. 

Harry pulls off with this ridiculously loud wet sound, sweeps the hair out of his face with one hand while the other holds the base of Louis’ cock, just shy of being too tight. 

“Can we fuck you?” Harry asks, a question that comes out so simple like he’s asking Louis if he wants a biccy with his cuppa. It sends a shiver down Louis’ spine and he’s nodding yes, reaching up to grab at Liam to kiss away the words he might let out. He knows that he doesn’t want this to stop. Wants to see what Liam looks like when he comes undone. Wants to watch Harry lose control but he isn’t sure where his place is in either of those. It’ll be much easier if he just gives in, gives in to what they want. What they want to give him. 

Harry lets his cock go, creeps up over Louis and kisses him soft on the cheek, the corner of his lips. His eyes flash to Liam’s once, twice and it’s almost as if they’re having some silent conversation. 

God. This is. This is not what Louis expected and it's so much more than he ever even considered he’d have and it could be for tonight but he’s too scared to ask. Too turned on to concentrate on the what happens after because they want him. They both do.

And Louis really fucking wants them back.

“Yes,” Louis answers as truthfully as he can. “Please, want you both –” He leaves off with a shake of his shoulders. He's so overwhelmed by this. By how visible their feelings are and maybe there's so much more to be said. To be cleared up and discussed, but now. God, Louis wants this, whatever they're offering. He needs it now.

Harry kisses him deep, tongue brushing at the roof of his mouth and Christ, Louis’ hips shift up at nothing, desperate for something else but not sure how to ask. He can taste himself on Harry’s tongue and it’s so fucking hot. He needs to be closer, needs to let Harry know how much he wants this. Louis’ threads his fingers through Harry’s hair, tugs like he’s already discovering Harry likes and eats up every sound Harry makes when he does. Harry’s hair is so soft, even as dirty as it is from the last day and a bit of no showering and sweat, it's so soft and feels like silk beneath his fingertips.

Louis’ senses Liam’s return more than sees it. Lost in kissing Harry and the way Harry’s fingertips feel as they light over his chest, brush over his pebbled nipples and through the trail of hair that leads down past his belly button. Liam’s hands feel large and warm on Louis’ skin as he cups his hands at the back of Louis’ thighs, pushing his legs up so his feet are flat on the mattress. Louis skin prickles with heat as Liam’s fingertips slide between his legs, thumb a soft press at his taint, slipping back slow between Louis’ cheeks. It makes Louis’ breath catch in his chest. Makes him stop kissing Harry back for a minute because this is . . . this is real. 

“Whatever you want, Louis,” Harry murmurs, lips soft and wet at Louis’ jaw. “But I think it should be Liam, yeah? It's all we've talked about since we left.” Harry’s looking between them both with his eyes so big and dark. 

He's so fucking gorgeous like this, so turned on and needy and Louis wants to kiss him. Knows he can now, which is exciting and heady so he does. Just leans up on one elbow, fingertips a light touch on Harry's arm because he's already meeting Louis halfway. They kiss wet and filthy. 

“Okay,” Louis whispers against the soft swell of Harry's lips, turns his head to the side in the slightest so he can watch Liam watching them. His normally warm brown eyes almost black with want. “Yes, fuck yes.”

“Liam, get the stuff,” Harry commands softly at Louis’ shoulder, looking at Louis with so much visible want in his eyes and oh. They really mean this. They’re both staring at him like he’s something to be devoured and Louis is damn sure he doesn’t mind. Not tonight. Not now.

“Can’t wait to watch him with you,” Harry says, and he's so close to Louis that he can feel Harry's face heat with that admission. It burns something in Louis’ chest, too. It’s like the fact that they've talked about this, or a scene something like it, should make him hesitate, want to find out more, but there'll be time to talk later because now Harry's said it, having Liam inside him is all that Louis wants.

Liam's staring down at him, never one for a poker face at the best of times, and now even more so. Louis’ had near his entire life to read a look from Liam and this is something he's seen before, but never as focused like it is on him now. On Harry? Yes. And maybe Liam sees Louis’ slight hesitation, his second of wondering what Harry gets out of this by pushing them together.

“Kiss me,” Louis says to Liam, leaning up to brush his fingertips to Liam’s jaw. Needing to make sure this is what Liam wants. That he’s really okay with all of this as much as Harry seems to be himself. 

Liam nods, a cherry blush staining his cheeks that Louis picks up on as Liam leans over him, slots their mouths together. His bottom lip fits perfect between Louis’ own and . . . kissing Harry is one thing, but kissing Liam comes with a history. A shared past and so many feelings held in for so long it’s like a relief every time their lips touch. Louis gasps at the first feel of Liam’s fingers as they slip between his cheeks, a dry rub over the tight furl of skin there. Louis’ hips lift of their own accord as Liam pulls back, Louis nipping at his fat bottom lip as he goes. He’s not left alone for long. Harry’s fingertips tip-tap across his chest, his thumb stroking the other side of Louis’ jaw, cupping his cheek and pulling him in with this sexy smirk. Harry’s eyes are so big, his lashes near brushing against Louis’ own skin as he kisses Louis deep, holding him close. 

Louis breaks away with a groan when he feels Liam’s finger, wet with lube, circling his hole, sighs when he pushes in. He winces a bit, because it has been a while and he doesn’t want to mention it because they know when that was and Louis doesn’t want to remind them of it. Or himself. Harry kisses his cheek softly as Liam slowly moves, his eyes flickering over Louis’ face like he’s looking for signs that Louis wants him to stop, to wait. 

“’S’okay,” Louis says, searching out beside him for any part of Liam he can reach. He finds his knee and pats it almost ineffectively but it seems to be enough.

Liam licks over his lips, so plush and full as he gets a hand at the back of Louis’ thigh, pushing his leg up and squeezing as he starts to slide his finger in deeper, fucking in and in. Louis cries out, throws his head back, and goes with it. Liam’s making him feel so good and Harry’s nipping at his neck, sucking at the mark he and Liam made on Louis’ skin. His hand smacks the bed beside him as Liam adds another finger, Louis fisting the sheet tight between his fingers as Harry breathes hot and heavy at his ear.

“Fuck, you’re so – you’re both so fucking hot. Knew you would be, but –” Harry cuts off, starts mouthing hot and wet over Louis’ chest, teeth grazing over his nipple and then he’s gone. 

When Louis looks up it’s because Liam’s fingers have stilled inside him and he’s bent down as Harry’s met him halfway. Watching them kiss is something Louis should be used to but not like this, not from where he’s at now as Liam settles into it, tongues visible, and Louis has to bite his own lip not to make a sound to distract them. 

Harry breaks away first, wipes the back of his hand across his mouth as he slides back down to the bed beside Louis. Slips his hand over Louis’ stomach, muscles quivering, and curls his fingers around Louis’ cock where it’s straining, wet at the tip. Harry rubs his thumb over the head, toys with the foreskin having Louis seeing stars behind his eyes as Liam starts scissoring his fingers apart rubbing at Louis’ prostate and _fuck._

“Please,” Louis whimpers as Liam slides in a third finger, his knuckle brushing that sweet spot inside over and over again. Harry’s got Louis’ cock in a loose fist so he can fuck up into it when he just can’t keep still any longer. 

“ _Please._ ” Louis tries again, unable to get the rest of what he wants out. Every inch of his skin feels like it’s a live wire, sparking with every single touch. Harry’s lips on his chest, Liam’s grip under Louis’ thigh, Harry’s cock, hard and insistent as he ruts up against Louis’ side and _Christ_. Louis bats his hand where Liam’s close, is so fucking ready to have Liam inside him properly that he can’t even speak the words. 

Maybe he doesn’t need to, maybe it’s written on his face or something. Liam pulls back and Louis and Harry both watch as Liam strokes his dick a few times before sliding a condom on. Harry sits up, grabs the lube from where Liam must have dropped it before and pours slick over Liam’s dick, then on his hand. He rubs his fingertips together for a second before his hand slips between Louis’ legs and circles where Louis is so fucking sensitive and open from all of Liam’s work before. There’s no green left at all in Harry’s eyes as he breathes out this deep, harsh breath and slips his finger inside, curls it just so he can tug at Louis’ rim. Louis bucks his hips and curses, throws a hand over his eyes because it’s overwhelming. Harry and Liam and what they’ve done and what they’re about to do and he just.

“C’mon, Liam. He’s so ready, aren’t you, Lou?” Harry asks, but Louis’ past the point of speaking now. He nods instead, swallowing hard as Harry looks between them. 

“Please, _please_ ,” Louis begs, and there’s a soft chuckle that sounds like Harry from above before his fingers disappear and there’s something a lot bigger nudging Louis’ hole. 

Louis moves his hand, reaches out for Harry, curling his fingertips around the nape of Harry’s neck, drawing him in. He kisses Harry quick before Harry settles in at his side and the blunt head of Liam’s cock starts pressing in and oh shit. Shit. They’re really doing this. 

Liam’s mouth is dropped open, this look Louis’ never seen before on his face as he presses Louis’ knee up and to the side as he starts to move. His dick feels so thick and fucking _there_ as he pushes in, leaving Louis feeling like he’s being broken apart and put back together all at the same time. Louis croaks out this moan as Harry swears at his side and then Liam’s above him. He’s looking straight into Louis’ eyes and there’s this emotion Louis doesn’t want to read into playing in the dark depths. He closes the distance between them, lips a slick slide against each other as Liam moans and starts moving with purpose. 

It all starts to become a blur as Liam fucks in deeper and the three of them take turns at kissing each other. Always touching, all of them as Louis struggles to keep a hold of the here and now. Needs to have a hand on them both just so he has some sort of anchor because it’s all so much. He might just float away. Liam’s muttering above him as he mouths at Louis’ shoulder, down his chest as Harry leans up, his hand scratching pink marks over Liam’s bicep and ribs and God. God. Louis never imagined sex could feel like this. That being with the two people he has had so many feelings about for so long would ever amount to anything like the emotions surging through his bloodstream now. 

Louis wraps his leg around Liam’s waist, gets his heel pressed against the curve of Liam’s arse, urging him on. Liam takes the hint and starts really fucking into Louis then. So deep and so good, Louis is tugging at Harry’s curls, making this _sound_ as Harry kisses him and kisses him. He can’t ask for more because he’s getting it. He can’t tell them how good it is because there’s no word to describe how this feels. He just needs them close and wants them both and this is so much, _too_ much but not enough. Not enough but he’s so close from having Harry suck him off and the way they've been acting all night. 

It’s not long before he can feel the tell-tale pull at the base of his spine. Harry gazes at him with slow blinks of his lashes as Louis lip trembles, his mouth dry as he licks at his lips, trying to let them know. To speak. Liam’s back in his space, mouthing at Louis’ neck and chin before he kisses him sweet and shaky because of how harsh he’s breathing. His lips sweep softly over Louis’ jaw, brushing the shell of his ear as he whispers, “Just let go, babe. Let go.” 

Louis groans again, deep and low, because he wants to. He wants to so much but at the same time he wants this to go on as long as possible. They hinted at this being something they’ve discussed, but Louis isn’t sure, when he wakes up tomorrow and lets it all sink in, whether he’ll feel the same as he does now. If he’ll be fine with this being a one-off like it might end up being. Louis lets his hand drift over Liam's chest, feeling out the way it shifts quickly under his palm, the sharp relief of his collarbones and curve of his shoulder. He kisses Liam quickly before his head’s snapping back with the feel of Harry’s hand as it wraps around Louis’ cock and God, it’s so much. 

Liam must move, because an instant later Louis can feel Harry in between them, sucking the tip of Louis’ prick in his mouth, his tongue flicking quickly at the slit. Liam’s sitting back now on his haunches, letting Harry have room as he dicks deep into Louis, hardly moving at all. It’s this slow grind that seems to hit all the right places inside, and with the way Liam’s looking at him, biting at his own lip before breathing out harshly, sending it trembling. Liam’s grip on Louis’ hips is so fucking tight, his fingertips pressed deep into Louis’ flesh but it’s an ache that only adds to how the rest of him feels. Wound up like a coil and so fucking tight he might just break into a million parts when he comes. 

It’s like an out-of-body experience, how he can see it all. See Liam glance between them, his eyes near burning a path as they travel over Louis’ skin before shifting to Harry. Harry’s got a hand somewhere behind Liam – probably his bum – like some counterpoint of balance as he tongues at Louis’ slit and fuck. Fuck. Louis can’t, he can’t fucking believe this is happening. How good it feels to have them both. 

The pull at the base of Louis’ spine winds tighter and tighter the more Harry and Liam seem to work in unison to get him off . . . or a combination, but he’s coming before he can even take his next breath. It’s so good and so much as his cock kicks off and he grips at Harry’s hair and Liam’s shoulder and just _holds on_.

When he opens his eyes it's to the sight of Liam licking into Harry’s mouth. His tongue is this visible thing delving deep and coming out covered in this shiny white and oh fuck. _Fuck_. That’s Louis’ come. His cock twitches where it’s wet and shiny against his stomach. He shouldn’t be feeling like he could get hard again so soon. Yet Liam is moaning and holding Harry’s face between his hands as they take turns passing Louis’ come between them and that’s. That’s, wow.

“Jesus,” Louis whispers, his voice cracking, as Harry turns away from Liam’s touch and looks at Louis with these slow blinking eyes. He looks fucking _wrecked_. He keeps his eyes on Louis as he runs one fingertip down the centre of Liam’s chest, spreads his fingers out as Liam’s stomach muscles ripple with Harry’s light touch. 

“I can’t . . . I can’t hold –” Liam’s voice cuts out into this groan as Harry flops down beside Louis, mouth hot and insistent at the bruise that they both worked on, on and off all night. 

“Please,” Louis says, voice utterly wrecked, licking at his lips before swallowing hard because this is all too much. 

Liam hefts Louis’ legs up further around his waist, ending up somewhere around his chest as he leans right over Louis, plants his hands on the mattress, and fucking _lets go._

Liam’s making these filthy fucked-out sounds as he near breaks Louis in two, and Louis trades off kissing every part of Liam he can reach and turning his head and nipping at Harry's chin and jaw until his lips find Harry’s again. It's so much bent here like this, being between them and Harry’s running his hand up and over Liam’s shoulder, his biceps near trembling from effort. Louis leans up, kisses Liam proper and deep and filled with want as Harry whimpers beside him. Liam loses his rhythm, dropping his head to Louis’ shoulder as he fucks in deep twice before Louis can feel his cock twitching deep inside. 

Jesus, Louis is utterly ruined. He can barely lift his hand to connect back with Liam. He ends up patting him on the shoulder until Liam turns his head the slightest bit so Louis can see how he’s got his eyes near shut. His lashes flutter and his fat bottom lip trembles. 

“Louis,” Harry calls from beside them. He’s sittin up a bit, leaning on his forearm, hand a near blur over his cock as he strokes himself fast. Jesus, he looks so fucking hot. He’s stripping himself quick at the head, eyes flickering from Louis to Liam and back again, teeth pressed deep in his bottom lip as his nostrils flare.

He whimpers and Louis knows that he needs something. Louis reaches out, strokes his hand softly over Harry’s thigh, squeezes so that Harry knows he’s here. That he wants Harry, too. 

“ _Louis, Louis, Lou,_ ” Harry repeats, sounds so fucked out from sucking Louis before. 

Louis drifts his knuckles up between Harry’s legs, curls his fingers around Harry’s cock and the second he does, Harry’s near howling, shuddering into Louis’ touch. He’s so bloody big, Harry is, feels heavy and thick in Louis’ hand as he takes over, stroking Harry as quick as he was on his own. He’s wet, too. So fucking _wet_ as Louis’ thumb brushes over the tip, Harry’s so hard in his hand and moaning these choked-off sounds as he comes thick and heavy over his Louis’ fist. It seems like Harry’ll never stop and Louis can’t keep his eyes off Harry where he’s still staring back at him like Louis’ the only thing that matters. Like Louis just being here is the most amazing thing in the world. Finally Harry collapses down beside Louis, muscles twitching as he breathes in harsh and quick. Liam’s lips brush against Louis’ neck, breath hot on Louis’ skin as Harry closes his eyes, a great dopey grin on his face. 

Louis whines with loss as Liam finally pulls out, shifts up between them with a bit of a chuckle as Louis grabs at Liam’s arm. He’s not ready for Liam to be too far away yet, even if he knows Liam needs to. Harry leans over, presses his teeth to Louis’ shoulder, scrapes down a bit which has Louis’ shivering. Fuck. He’s still so turned on by them both it’s ridiculous. Louis turns his head, nudges at Harry with his arm until he looks up and gives Louis a tiny hint of a grin before slotting their mouths together. He really likes kissing Harry, and while Liam is getting rid of the condom _somewhere_ Louis can focus on Harry’s mouth once more. He only stops when he hears Liam curse from somewhere above. 

“Can’t believe, can’t believe you're hard again, _Jesus_ ,” Liam says, awe etched in his tone. It makes Louis blush and Harry pulls back, no doubt to look. Louis gazes up between them and fuck, he’ll probably never forget how Liam looks. He’s gorgeous, crouched between Louis’ thighs. His skin is all golden from his work outdoors, covered in a sheen of sweat, curls dark at his forehead and fuck, Louis loves him so much. 

Harry’s hand rubs slow over Louis’ knee where he’s had his leg thrown over Harry’s side. Harry’s lips press messy and wet to the round of Louis’ shoulder over again, like he’s forgotten he’s actually doing it. Louis’ heart feels like it might explode from all this attention. Even more so as Liam’s eyes slide down between them, his hand drifting in the same direction, lighting up Louis’ skin as he goes. His thighs, the mess over his stomach, down to where his cock is hard against his stomach again. 

Liam gets his hand on Louis and he whines, so fucking sensitive, but he can tell it won’t take much to get him off again. Fuck, he’s not had two in a row since he and Liam figured out how to get around the parent lock on Liam’s computer to watch proper porn in his bedroom. They’d wait up until midnight before putting it on mute, laptop between them as their hands shifted the duvet quickly, biting down on moans so that no one would know what they were up to. 

Louis’ whole body is buzzing and everything is too much. Three strokes of Liam’s wet hand covered in the mess he’s run his fingers through on Louis’ belly and Louis is coming again in short, barely-there spurts. It’s almost painful, has him curling in on himself and unable to make a sound as Liam works him through it all gently. He’s completely exhausted by all their attention that he can only whimper as Liam cleans him off with someone's shirt. Whines as Liam finally lies down beside him, kisses Louis quiet with soft brushes of their lips like Louis is something to be taken care of. Harry whispers Louis’ name against his opposite shoulder. It’s soft and it makes something settle in Louis’ chest; that ache that has been there since Liam and Harry left is gone. Something Louis can’t define fills its space. 

Harry makes this sound and Liam laughs lightly, tickles a bit against Louis’ lips and then they’re kissing above him and it feels . . . it feels almost right that they're ending this the way it started. Liam cleans Harry up next, leaning over Louis to brush their lips together with a grin as Harry’s eyes flutter sleepily. Harry shuffles around at Louis’ side, finally laying his head on Louis’ chest after kissing his cheek one last time. Liam drags the blanket up to cover all of them, settling beside Louis. Harry’s already snoring softly and Liam chuckles quietly, brushing his hair back from his brow. It’s so intimate, feels so much more personal than all that they’ve done, all that Louis’ seen tonight, that it leaves him catching his breath a bit. Liam notices, because it’s Liam, and even through everything he still knows Louis so well.

“Hey,” he says, curling up beside Louis, finds Louis’ hand under the blanket and twines their fingers together in the small amount of space between them. 

The light on Harry’s phone has gone out now, the battery finally giving up the ghost. All Louis has to see of Liam’s face is from the shallow gold light outside the tent. He looks happy and sated and a little nervous, which is fine because Louis feels a bit that way, too.

“Are we okay?” Liam asks, looking at Louis with eyes wide, his fingertips twitching. 

Okay? Louis isn’t sure he understands the meaning of the word. Liam needs him to say something, though. Give him an answer that’ll help ease that worried puppy look in his eyes. Even if Louis doesn’t know that it’s true. It could be okay now, might not be in the morning, and Louis doesn’t want to think about it. Can’t. 

“Yeah,” he whispers. “Yeah.” It’s not a lie but it's not exactly the truth because Louis doesn't know the answer. Not really. 

He turns a bit, moving a grumbly Harry whose fist rubs against Louis’ chest. Louis untucks his arm, slips it under Harry’s head as he curls even tighter against Louis, which he didn’t think was possible. Louis nuzzles his face closer to Liam’s, presses their lips together as assurance but loses himself in it a little as Liam becomes more of an active participant. It’s not a passionate thing by any means, more comfort than anything. Louis doesn’t remember stopping before he falls asleep.


	6. Chapter 6

Louis doesn’t quite realise where he is when he wakes. 

There’s a gentle hum of conversation not too far away, bright laughter that rings out and has him breathing in extra deep. His shoulders shift with it and that’s when someone grumbles, someone with curls that Louis can now feel tickle under his chin. The smooth palm of someone's hand rides over his bare thigh, settling on his waist as the sound of their happy hum reverberates against Louis’ back.

Right. Right. He slept with Liam and Harry last night. He kissed them both, touched them everywhere and fell asleep with Harry’s head on his chest, his lips softly moving against Liam’s own until it was the last thought he had in his mind. 

He doesn’t have time to worry about what he’ll say or even have time to think as Harry tilts his head up, lips pressing dry and slow at Louis’ throat. Liam’s mouthing at Louis’ shoulder as he rocks against Louis, his hand tilting Louis forward at the hip and _oh_. That’s Liam’s cock, hard as he rubs up against Louis’ arse, a dry drag at the cleft. It’s no surprise that they’ve all woken up like this. Louis’ chubbed up a bit himself and as Harry presses in closer, he can feel that Harry’s not going to take much to get there, either. 

Liam’s murmuring softly at his shoulder. “Can I, please?” Louis whimpers a _yes_ , eyelashes fluttering while Liam’s nudging his thighs apart. Louis spreads his legs a little, lets Liam guide his prick between them before pressing his thighs together, giving Liam something to rock into. It feels a little dirty, but so hot, and Louis _wants_ without having to really think about it at all. Harry’s fingertips are cool as he slides them up over Louis’ chest, his teeth a quick nip at Louis’ jaw. Louis’ heart is already starting to race as he curls his foot over Harry’s calf, leans in and captures Harry’s lips with his own. 

It’s easy. So easy to fall back into the rhythm they had the night before. Louis reaches a hand behind him, finding Liam’s and slotting their fingers together as Harry kisses Louis deeply. He tastes stale but it disappears after a minute. Louis has more to be concerned about as his breath hitches in his throat, the head of Liam’s dick catching at Louis’ hole. Liam shushes him with a squeeze of their hands, Harry’s thumb drawing circles at the apple of Louis’ cheek. He feels so surrounded by them, completely and utterly as Harry’s cock bumps against his own. Louis moans into their next kiss, sucking at Harry’s plump bottom lip as Harry murmurs Louis’ name. Harry rubs the tips of their noses together as his blunt nails scratch down Louis’ chest, curls a hand around them both. 

It feels almost like a dream.

There’s a scratch of Liam’s stubble over Louis’ shoulder and back, Liam’s mouth hot and wet trailing up to the nape of his neck. Louis bucks into Harry’s grip, squeezes his hand in Liam’s so hard it feels like his knuckles may break through his skin. Liam’s rocking between his thighs, this relentless, sweet rhythm that has Louis pressing his thighs closer, needing to feel Liam _more_. The fire building in Louis’ belly seems to stretch out, tendrils reaching every point of contact with both of his boys. The way Harry keeps teasing him with each kiss, pulling back for half a breath before delving in once more. His tongue slick against Louis’ own as Liam bites at the juncture of muscle between Louis neck and shoulder. 

“Fuck,” Louis murmurs as Harry’s thumb brushes over the tip of his dick, flicks down between where he’s holding them close and rubs where Louis’ so sensitive. “Jesus, _fuck_!”

Liam’s breath is warm at his ear, his hips still between them. “Is it too much, Lou?” Liam asks as Harry slows the shift of his hand. 

“Do you need us to stop?” Harry’s eyes are bright and green in the morning light as he blinks owlishly at Louis, concern etched upon his brow. 

Louis shakes his head slowly, his fringe falling across his eyes that Harry brushes away with shaking fingertips. Louis leans into his touch as Harry cups his cheek, turns his head to press his lips to Harry’s palm. “No, no. It’s . . . .” He doesn’t know how to find the words to encompass how _much_ he’s feeling. Can’t even think of how to begin to put it all together in his head, let alone out loud. “Kiss me, please,” he whispers, Harry’s close enough to hear it and he squeezes Liam’s hand, shifts his hips back into the cradle of Liam’s own. 

They don’t question him again, that momentary pause giving way to a confidence between them all that has everything they were doing before on overdrive. Liam’s cock is relentless between Louis’ thighs, the slick from the night before providing some relief, but there’s a burn building that Louis knows he’ll feel for days after. The head of Liam’s cock keeps knocking against Louis’ balls, and timed with how Harry’s stroking them both off Louis can feel his orgasm already pulling up and up from the curl of his toes. He turns his head back as far as he can, meets Liam’s lips in a sort of kiss that’s enough for Louis to feel their connection. All three of them, as Harry drags his knuckles down Louis’ side, bumping over each rib bone, the curve at his waist, until he’s laying his hand upon Louis and Liam’s own. 

It’s so much. So much after last night, and this just feels like something else. As if last night was a preview and this is what it could be. Should be. 

Harry’s making these little hiccoughing sounds as he rubs their cock heads together. He’s fisting them quickly, his bottom lip trembling as he blinks and blinks at Louis, who’s finding it hard to breathe himself with everything that’s going on. He feels almost to the brink, with Liam squeezing at his hip so hard there’s bound to be more marks later. Louis gets his free hand between their bodies, digs his fingers into Harry’s shoulder. God, he’s so close to shaking apart as Harry twists his head to the side, mouthing at Louis’ hand until he’s cupping Harry’s jaw, his thumb sliding between Harry’s lips and Christ, the look on Harry’s face when he _sucks_. Louis’ spilling between them, his orgasm hitting fast and hard, eyes squeezed shut as the world around him seems to expand and collapse all at once. 

Harry’s grunting harshly around Louis’ thumb as he loses it, his whole body near shaking as he fists them both. There's this audible squelching sound, so filthy that Louis has to lean in, lick his way into Harry’s mouth, his thumb smearing wet over Harry’s cheek as he tangles his fingers in Harry’s hair to hold him close. Liam curses behind him, forehead pressed at a knob of bone at the rise of Louis’ back. He thrusts between Louis’ thighs faster and faster. Louis reaches back, sliding his fingers over the curve of Liam’s bum, dragging him in. Liam’s mouth is hot as he mouths over Louis’ skin, the edges of his teeth pressing in as he ruts in hard – once, twice, three times – and then he’s holding Louis close. Louis feels Liam’s come spurting wet and hot and Louis’ sticky with it. He shudders in between them. Feels so much his heart might burst. 

He closes his eyes and drifts as he feels Harry pull away. Lets Liam move his body as Harry cleans them all up. Snuggles into the warmth of Liam’s chest with Harry for a blanket before he can really start to think about what this means between them. Falls asleep again to the sounds of Liam and Harry murmuring overhead. 

: : :

When he wakes up again it’s before either of them. He’s tucked up between them both, Harry’s arm wrapped around his middle and Louis’ head still resting on Liam’s chest. The light hasn’t changed all that much when Louis opens his eyes, he can see a tear in the roof that shows a blue sky with a tiny puff of white cloud over head. He can’t remember there being anything wrong with the tent when they’d set it up so it makes him wonder just when it happened. If it was one of them the night before, or this morning. A misplaced foot. A head tearing at the old fabric until it shredded. 

He breathes and tries to lie still. Tries to get his head around all of what’s gone on. There’s so fucking _much_ , is the thing. The sex this morning that felt so right, so good that he didn’t question it. All of the night before where it almost felt like Harry and Liam had discussed this. That Louis – having Louis – was something they wanted. That _Louis_ was something they wanted, and Louis still isn’t sure how he feels about that. His heart’s so confused and he has no idea what the fuck is going on.

He must say it out loud, rather than think it, because Liam’s clearing his throat, a rumble under Louis’ ear. It has Louis shifting a bit so his head’s more on the pillows and Harry grumbles but rolls back, giving him room.

“Maybe we should talk,” Harry says, all gruff with sleep as he yawns, raises his hands above his head. 

It stills Louis’ breath in his chest. Makes his body turn cold. Louis feels like he should run, feels like he should say something about how it could just be that night. And this morning. How maybe all the sex was a one-off. Something that happened because of what they’d taken and drunk. He can’t move, though, is the thing. He just can’t. 

“Louis,” Liam starts, rolling onto his side so Louis can see his face. He looks calm but a little nervous, his normally bright eyes a little dull. “This. Last night, this morning. This means so much to me, to us.”

Harry murmurs something like agreement at Louis’ side, his hand lost in his wild chocolatey curls as he rests on his elbow. “We wanted – we’ve wanted to tell you for a while now. How much we both love you, yeah?” 

Liam’s fingertips graze over Louis’ shoulder, so light and soft it sparks gooseflesh down Louis’ arm. “I think I’ve always loved you a little bit. More than a little, really. I think it was hard to tell because we were always together. You’ve always been this huge part of my life, and when I met Harry you took him in and loved him just like I did. It meant so much to me that you’d found a place for him as well in your heart.” Liam licks over his lips. There’s pillow creases in his cheeks and he looks so young, so vulnerable, reminds Louis of the first time they kissed. The second and all the times in between when Louis was so close to admitting how much he wanted Liam as something more than just a friend. 

His stomach swirls a bit, nervous himself at where this might be going. Liam’s eyes flicker over to Harry as Harry clears his throat.

He’s smiling, this hint of a thing that tugs at his lips, has shallow divots where his dimples usually are. “And I’m so glad you did. Let me in and let me love Liam, let me share him with you – and I do, you know. I love Liam so much and I think him being away let me see why he feels about you the way that he does. Spending all that time with you I couldn’t help it, really. I couldn’t help falling for you, too. It’s not exactly the same but it’s still –” He stops and Louis has to swallow hard. Choke down how it feels to hear them both admit how much they love each other, how much they feel for Louis as well. 

Louis’ already shaking his head. This is . . . this is too much to bear. Too much to add to what he’s already told himself can’t be true. That he can’t love them both, can’t entertain them wanting him or being a part of something more. He feels like like he should apologise, and the _sorry_ is on the tip of his tongue as he tries to roll up off the bed but gets tangled in the blanket and pinned back down by the two boys at his sides.

“Shh,” Liam says softly, fingertips sure at his shoulder. “Please, just – just hear us out.”

“It took us a while to sort things out. To figure out how we could feel all the things we were feeling and still be true to each other. True to you,” Harry says, his hand squeezing at Louis’, firm and reassuring. 

“We, Harry and I –” Liam sounds more sure now as he goes on – “we sort of love you, Louis. Quite a lot.”

Louis closes his eyes and tries to just breath. Tries to will the beat of his heart to something that isn’t liable to explode it out of his chest. Love. They love him. They love each other and they love him and this doesn’t sound like something that they’ve just woke up thinking. This sounds like they’ve sort of had a plan and Louis. He can’t figure this out. He can’t sort out what to do from here.

“Do you –” he licks his lips, mouth so bloody dry with all of this – “do you want me to choose, then? Choose between you?” 

“No!” Harry near shouts and Liam’s shaking his head, eyes wide. “We couldn’t.”

“No, not at all,” Liam says, squeezing at Louis’ shoulder. “You don’t have to. You can have us both. We can have each other, maybe.” 

Louis’ already shaking his head because this doesn’t sound fair. Not in any way he can see. He shakes them both off as he sits up. “I won’t. I won’t be some go-between for both of you. I can get my own boy –”

Harry cuts him off with a snort. A sort of ugly look crossing his face that Louis’ only seen once before when they were at Liam’s Christmas do and some new lad from France was all over Liam on the dance floor.

“Mini-me and a side of Liam? He was a _child_ , Louis,” Harry rolls his eyes. “Why would you settle for someone who’s sort of us when you could have us? We _want_ you, Louis. We want you for more than just what we’ve had tonight. We want you for breakfasts and trying to fit into Liam’s queen-sized bed. We want you for movie nights and kisses under the covers during the scary parts that Liam pretends he’s brave enough to watch.”

“We want you in all the ways, Louis. It’ll be hard, yeah. But you always have to work for good things, for the best. We want us to be the three of us and not just like last night but more. Could you – could you at least think about it?” Liam asks, his hand hovering in the space between them, fingertips twitching like he wants to touch Louis but isn’t sure he’s allowed. 

Louis isn’t sure he what he wants. 

He covers his eyes with both his hands and takes two long breaths in and out. The thing is, the thing they’re offering could be everything. What they’re offering could be this amazing wonderful thing between all three of them. Having Liam. Having Harry. Having them both. 

Yet it can’t be as easy as they’re making it out to be. It can’t be so simple as just being together, all of them. Louis’ seen what love between just two people can do. How time and circumstances can change people. Change who they are. What they think they want. Being committed to someone you love doesn’t mean anything, not always. His mum’s living proof of that. Two divorces and a string of boyfriends walking in and out of Louis’ and his siblings lives until Dan came along. Even at their wedding, Louis still had doubts. Still takes a breath before he answers his mum’s phone calls, so used to being the first one she’d ring, sobbing down the line. It’s not as if Liam could understand. His parents’ marriage is ridiculously strong and built on so much love. Harry’s parents divorced years ago but she found love since. Anne and Robin are rock solid – well, at least from what Louis knows.

Still. He needs to think about this. It’s been so long since he gave up any of his heart. Truly let someone in – or in this case two someones – that he really can’t justify jumping straight into it. 

“I need some time,” is what he says when he finally uncovers his eyes. “It’s a lot.”

They both nod slow and sadly and Louis reaches out, needs to reassure them that he’s thinking about this. That he really will consider what they’ve offered. He squeezes both their thighs and crawls out of the bedclothes, grabbing at the first shirt and shorts that he can find, not caring whose they are. His wallet’s on the floor near his shoes and he grabs them both, ignoring the soft sounds of Liam and Harry’s voices behind him. He creeps out into the sun, zipping up the tent behind him, and heads down to where the food trucks wait. Coffee and something greasy are calling his name, something good to fill his belly and give him space to think things through. 

: : :

And think he does.

It’s the last day of the festival, everyone slow to return and pack their things up so it takes him a while to get served. Takes even longer to find a spot to sit that isn’t muddy or too gross. He sits with his coffee and some breakfast wrap thing that oozes egg and sauce down his hand and wrist that he licks up. There’s a crowd around him but Louis can’t focus on a single sound. It all fades into the background with Louis’ head full of thoughts.

It could be good. Being with them. Being a part of a relationship with the two people he’s grown to love most. He can imagine those dates that he usually has with Harry, where they get dressed up to attend some new bar opening. They could dance closer than normal. End the night squished into some grotty loo, grinding up against each other until they had to sneak out the back door. Getting a cab home and kissing dirty and deep until they got home and got off without having to think about it being _wrong_. Without it leaving Liam out. 

Louis could kiss Liam any time he wanted to. In the morning when he woke up and Liam made his tea just the way he liked it, Liam all sweaty from his morning run and smelling so fucking good that Louis always found it a turn-on. He wouldn’t have to hide in the shower and pull one off after. Would just drop to his knees and suck Liam down while Harry looked on. 

They could just sit, all three of them, on the sofa and be comfortable together. Liam deciding when they should turn in. Harry turning the telly off while Liam cleaned the last of their mugs in the kitchen. Louis pulling back the bed covers, lying in the middle and waiting for his boys. Liam slipping in at one side and Harry at the other, kisses goodnight and warm touches. Being surrounded by love. 

They could be so good for each other. To each other.

But what if it went wrong? What if Harry didn’t want to watch, wanted to have Liam – or, fuck – Louis to himself. What if feelings altered, changed, became warped in ways that had voices too loud, words too cutting until someone had to go? Could Louis handle losing one of them? Could he handle being the one they left behind? Could he really be alone?

He doesn’t have an answer by the time he takes another sip of his coffee, finding it cold. He doesn’t have an answer as he walks back to the campground and finds Liam and Harry packing up the last of their stuff. 

Louis doesn’t say anything and he sees Harry and Liam exchange a look as Louis just picks up the rolled-up tent and starts to fit it in the back of Harry’s car. They’re still quiet once they’re done, Louis snagging the front seat, his feet up on the dash as Liam and Harry take one last look to check if they’ve left anything behind. Louis crosses his arms over his chest as Liam finally starts the car and heads them out of the lot. 

Louis gets lost a bit inside his head, leans against the window and watches the countryside fly by as they head back home. He keeps adding up all the pros and cons of starting something with the three of them and keeps coming up with no right answer either way. He either throws everything in and tries or he doesn’t. Either way he might lose them both. Either way he might end up with nothing but the _what if_ keeps holding him back. What if it all works out? What if love is enough? 

The car is slowing to a stop before he’s ready and when Liam switches the engine off you could hear a pin drop. 

Louis knows he needs to say something. Needs to give them some sort of answer but he’s still so tangled up. He knows what he’s leaning toward, though. Has a good idea of what road he wants to take. See where he ends up. 

He near jumps out of his skin when Harry clears his throat. “Can I help you take your stuff up, Lou?” 

Louis frowns. “My stuff?”

Louis watches Harry nod in the rearview mirror. He looks so sad, even his curls are droopy. Louis hates seeing him like that. Hates thinking it's because of him that Harry’s not his usually lit-up self. 

Liam’s bottom lip is trembling – well, would be but Liam’s biting at it, sucking it into his mouth. His eyes are downcast and his knuckles are white on the wheel and no. No. This has got to stop.

“Well,” Louis starts, things falling into place in his head in a way that has a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I’m not carrying it all up on my own.”

Harry snorts, this titter of a laugh. “All of it? You’ve got one bloody bag, Lou! You’re not a princess.”

“One? I’ll have you know I used my best Tetris skills on packing this car.” Louis shuffles in his seat, takes his belt off and turns so he can look at them both. Liam’s still avidly staring at the wheel and Harry’s eyes have gone a bit large. “The least you could do is help me bring it all upstairs. Or maybe you can both bring it up and I’ll start in on making us all a cuppa. We’ve got a lot to talk about,” Louis ends, and he’s trying to sound sure. Trying to sound confident but there’s still a waver to his tone that even he can hear. 

Harry’s mouth is working open and closed like a goldfish but it’s Liam who speaks first. Liam, who hasn’t said a word since Louis asked for time in the tent. 

“What exactly do you mean?” 

Louis looks at his hands before he speaks, suddenly nervous even though he’s fairly certain that this is what they want. What they all want. 

“I want you to bring all of our stuff up. I want you to come home, both of you,” he says, finding strength in his words as he goes along. 

They’re all quiet again after but Harry is grinning so wide that it looks like his face might actually split in two. Liam won’t even turn around, won’t _look_ at Louis, and maybe he waited too long. “I want to try, yeah. I want the three of us to try. If you still want –” Louis can’t finish the rest of his speech, such as it was, because Harry is crawling between the seats, grabbing at Louis’ shoulder, kissing the side of his mouth. Louis is laughing too much for it to be anything more, but then he’s falling backwards because Liam’s opening his bloody car door and he looks so serious as he turns Louis’ head and _does_ actually get their mouths lined up and kisses Louis hard. Harry’s still there, though, at Louis’ shoulder and trying to have a three-way kiss is difficult, but Louis’ always been one for a challenge. 

It’s ridiculous and Louis’ heart is so full, his whole body tingling with happiness, that he can’t stop smiling between Harry and Liam trying not to kiss him and each other. They only break apart when Harry’s foot somehow manages to hit the horn. 

Liam’s rubbing at his spit-covered lips with the back of his hand, his eyes already dark but so, so much happiness there. 

“Let’s take this upstairs, yeah?” he asks, voice hoarse and yes, upstairs. Upstairs sounds good with its multitude of flat surfaces and soft, comfortable beds. So much nicer than an air mattress or trying to do anything in the tiny space of Harry’s car. They clamber out and it’s a race upstairs with all three of them getting yelled at by Mrs MacGregor, but it’s worth it. 

So worth it. 

And maybe they unpack the car tomorrow, or the next day, or next week, because being together and not apart is too important for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading! Please make sure you head [HERE](http://jessimond.tumblr.com/) and leave **colourexplosion** some love for all her amazing art and music choices! Pairing up with artists makes Big Bang fics so special!
> 
> [TUMBLR POST](http://slightlytotheleft.tumblr.com/post/140735950424/bigbang4) for reblogging purposes


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